A to X
by JaceDLark
Summary: When Hawkeye is betrayed by Coulson and Rogers, he goes on the run from SHIELD and the Avengers. He decides to hide within another superhero group - the X-men. Can he find a way to make the X-men his new family? Will someone help mend his broken heart? Eventual SLASH with a side of het. Possible OOC. Goes slowly from angst to romance.
1. Anything but X-cellent

Heya.

So I'm back with a new fic after my PC ate everything I'd ever written before (grrrr) so I hope it's to your liking. If it's not, too bad. I'm not one of those people who will change their story because someone doesn't like something or other. Please note the following things.

1) I do not own these fandoms. I wish I did but alas, I do not.

2) Here be slash. If you don't like it or don't know what that means, there are plenty of het stories around. Find one of those. That said, this is eventual slash. It will take time.

3) I'm Australian. My words may be spelt differently to you. I will not change them to suit you. Also, my knowledge of Americanisms is seriously lacking. I might get things wrong and I would love it if you could tell me. Eg - Jello in America is called Jelly here, thus Jelly in America is called Jam. Confused yet? Now you understand my dilemmas.

4) I don't have a beta. All mistakes (which I hope to keep to a minimum) are mine. Feedback, con crit and reviews are treasured. Flames will be laughed at and promptly deleted.

I hope you enjoy the story and my aim is to add a new chapter each week.

Cheers, Jace.

* * *

**A to X**

_Chapter One - Anything but X-cellent_

"That's wonderful guys!" smiled Clint as he looked at a radiant Coulson and Cap. The pair had just announced that they were an item in front of the team. The only absent Avenger was Natasha who was securing a particle weapon in Iqaluit for SHIELD and wasn't expected back for another few days. Clint was most thankful for that because she would have seen through his mask in an instant and perceived the heartbreak he was carefully trying to keep hidden. Ordinarily, Coulson would have noticed as well but the agent was way too deliriously happy about starting his new relationship to care.

So there Clint stood, amid his friends (and he finally felt like he could call them that) and forced himself to just keep fucking smiling. Steve was blushing an adorable pink colour and Tony had already dashed off to one of the many bars in the tower to bring celebratory drinks. Clint had to force himself to sip the champagne and not chug it all down because the last thing he wanted was to call attention to himself. Coulson would be much more likely to notice him that way.

Clint cracked his obligatory jokes although he would rather have gone a few rounds with Galactus on his own with a broken bow than laugh. He kept a polite grin perpetually on his face and gave a nice toast to the new couple. That was when he almost fell to pieces. Coulson gazed happily back at Clint with such a sappy look on his face that it tore his heart in two. He was so feverishly joyful and he was looking at the archer, expecting him to feel the same. Thankfully the (usually) sharp man and SHIELD's most efficient agent (second to Fury himself) was for once completely oblivious.

It took a few hours before Bruce sidled out of the room and now that Clint wouldn't be the first out of the door, he took the chance to bail. Tony tried to get him to join an impromptu celebration at a nearby club but he managed to avoid it since he'd only just got back from a mission. That was the only time Coulson studied him carefully and after the agent made sure his subordinate was well, just tired, he swaggered to his room.

Alone at last, Clint finally let the tears he'd held in fall silently. Apparently the fact the he'd been sleeping with Coulson for almost a year now meant nothing to the senior agent.

Turning the temperature of the shower up to scalding, Clint slipped in and tried to wash the pain away with very limited success. It was the only time he allowed actual sobs out, otherwise JARVIS would hear them and report it back to Tony. That could not occur. He wouldn't let it. When he finally got a handle on his emotions, he stepped out of the shower and into his usual boxers. They were black with silver spider webs over them; a Christmas gift from Natasha. He slid into bed, hoping that when he woke the next day, he'd feel slightly better. _Fat chance of that happening though_ he bitterly thought to himself.

The bright sun woke Clint up the next morning and he wearily sat up in his bed. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and freaked the fuck out when he realised that the gun he usually kept under his pillow was missing. It was then that he remembered why he'd forgotten his usual nightly routine and the pain hit him like a barrage of bricks in the face. His mouth tasted feral since he hadn't brushed his teeth and he threw on some casual clothes before meandering down for breakfast.

One look at the box of Lucky Charms almost caused him to collapse in hysterical laughter at how unlucky and uncharmed his life was turning out to be. So he grabbed out some Rice Krispies instead. It was mercifully desolate in the kitchen and he scarfed his breakfast down so he could escape before anyone else showed up. That way he wouldn't have to fake his usual demeanour when he really just wanted to shoot something. Or break down crying. Or both. Fortune smiled on the archer and he snuck off to the range for several hours of brain numbing training.

Clint showered, this time with the water at a more normal temperature before heaving an internal sigh and making his way to the den. After a mission, he'd normally catch up on his TiVo shows and if he broke his normal pattern, Coulson at the very least would notice and that was unacceptable. He watched the next episodes of The Walking Dead, CSI and his personal favourite, Arrow. His usual game of working out how many special effects were wrong, like improbable blood spatter re-enactments and incorrect grips on weapons kept his mind off the Avenger's latest couple. That was until the pair walked into the room. It was a lot more difficult to disregard their existence when they were there in person.

Rogers pulled Coulson into his lap and they both blushed as they tried to get comfy on the couch next to Clint. Knowing it would be unusual for him to ignore them, Clint looked at the crimson pair with a (hopefully unnoticed) forced smile. "Hey guys!" he chirped.

"Morning Clint," answered Rogers. "Your mission in Baghdad was a success then?"

"Yeah, I holed up in a hotel in Sadr City waiting for the perfect shot and eventually, yep. One bullet in the chest," Clint said casually.

Rogers frowned and Coulson didn't deign the conversation with a response. "Wait, wasn't an American ambassador killed there yesterday?" asked Rogers in a stern voice.

"That's classified," Clint stated in a monotone.

"Clint, you can't just go around shooting Americans. Even if they are overseas," Rogers crossed his arms and openly glared at the archer with disapproval.

Clint couldn't help it. He snorted at the naivety that was sitting next to him. "Cap, I know it goes against your delicate sensibilities but you do know that I'm an assassin, don't you? I kill people for a living." He was inwardly rolling his eyes. How could a man from the forties who fought in World War II and saved the planet on an almost weekly basis for a couple of years now still squick at assassination? Surely anyone in the forces would understand that sometimes, as unpleasant as it can be, execution from an unknown assailant can save more lives than a drawn out diplomatic situation or an exacerbated standoff.

Rogers' eyes narrowed. "It's just not right."

In his peripheral vision, Clint saw Coulson give a slight nod before divulging the classified information. Apparently the good Captain would be better informed now since he's dating the agent. He wondered if Coulson realised that he was already compromised. Then again, Clint had been compromised for almost a year but Coulson had never given him privileged information. Clearly sex was all the agent had ever wanted from him. Which just made the fact that he had (despite his best efforts) fallen in love with the man all the more embarrassing.

Clint swept the thoughts away and filled in some details. "I saved his life. The ambassador had been wearing a kevlar vest under his shirt fitted with a powerful sedative and a blood bag. The Iraqi government thought the man had been bribing officials and were going to arrest and execute him. SHIELD needed someone that wouldn't miss and that was me."

"Oh, sorry Hawkeye. I should have known better," apologised Rogers.

Clint privately agreed, the super soldier should have known better, but he kept his thoughts to himself. He had nothing to prove. He'd been an Avenger since the siege on Manhattan almost two years ago. Trust was halting at first since he had been a mind-controlled drone but he'd shown them all, time and time again, just how dedicated he was to the team. He shrugged his shoulders at his field commander and threw him a half-smile. Coulson was too busy watching the television to see their exchange.

Not wanting to spend any more time with the two snuggling on the couch, Clint rose to his feet and stretched with a somewhat loud yawn. "Anyways, I'll catch you two lovebirds later," he chirped and was pleased he managed to keep his tone light instead of sarcastic. "Just don't christen the couch. Ew. We've still got to sit there you know," he said with another non-noticed forced smile and airily swept from the room.

Clint pinched some snacks for lunch and took them to his room. He collapsed onto his bed with an indistinct noise of combined disgust, relief and despair. It was barely three in the afternoon and the archer was already exhausted. How was he supposed to get through tonight's team dinner without smacking his head repeatedly into his plate of pasta or steak or whatever?

Eating the chocolate biscuits he'd pilfered, Clint was wondering how long he'd be able to last before the others started to notice that he was broken. If Natasha was here, she would have cornered him, gotten the story out of him and they would be downing shots of vodka already. God he fucking wished they could be doing that right now.

Clint's sharp eyes fell upon the full bottle of vodka resting on his coffee table that Nat had gifted him a few weeks ago on his birthday and he thought, _Why the fuck not?_ He rolled off the bed with a casual grace and picked the bottle up. His original intention was to get a shot glass from his kitchenette but decided that he didn't really give a flying fuck at the moment and started swigging straight from the bottle. The liquid fire burnt through his body and we welcomed it. After he'd polished off a third of the bottle, his thoughts turned back to his teammates.

Tony wouldn't notice Clint had a problem unless the archer morphed into a naked woman or a circuit board. As he was neither, he was pretty much safe there. Bruce was usually too busy keeping his own emotions under control to really notice anyone else's. The God of Thunder would probably be waxing on about his Jane Foster and how wonderful she was or defending the actions of his brother, Loki, and ensuring everyone knew he was being punished severely at the hands of Odin. Sam was still too busy geeking out that he was the newest Avenger and lacked any real knowledge of him to make an actual assessment.

The four people most likely to notice that Clint was pretty much feeling constant physical pain since the announcement yesterday, were the couple themselves, Cap and Coulson (he refused to think of their given names anymore) plus Pepper and JARVIS. Thankfully the couple were too busy groping each other in public to give a shit about him. Pepper was rarely around so the only real threat was JARVIS. Maybe that could be turned from a problem into an advantage.

Clint licked his lips before calling out to the Artificial Intelligence. "Hey JARV?" he voiced questioningly.

"Yes, Mr Barton," came the British voiceprint as smoothly as ever. Damn Tony really is a genius when he wasn't being conceited or an asshole. Or both.

"You know pretty much everything that goes on in this tower, don't you?" Clint asked rhetorically.

"I do possess an intimate knowledge of every electronic function of this building, including Sir's specialised suits and with an expansive memory unit plus ninety-seven point six percent visual coverage of the interior and nearby exterior..."

"JARV," groaned Clint with amused exasperation over the computerised voice. "A yes or no would have been sufficient."

"Perhaps, Mr Barton, you should have used that particular limiter with your initial request. In that case, yes, I do know virtually everything that occurs in this tower."

Clint rolled his eyes at the smug voice. He found it funny that the artificial intelligence was far sassier than his creator. Sometimes the student does surpass the master. "Great." The smile slid from his face. "So, you know, well knew, about my, er, not relationship, obviously..." He trailed off trying to put his thoughts into words. The vodka he was still consuming was probably not helping.

"If you are referring to your arrangement with Agent Coulson, then the answer is once again yes." The quieter tone conveyed sympathy and Clint couldn't help but feel a rush of affection for JARVIS.

"Hmm, arrangement," Clint said aloud to himself. He snorted. "I wish I'd known it was only an arrangement," he muttered to himself. Louder, he spoke back to JARVIS, "So, you probably know that I'm pretty fucked up right now?" He turned the end of the sentence into a question.

"Yes, Mr Barton." The lack of snark and sarcasm reignited Clint's tears. Someone (even if it wasn't human) knew he was at his lowest of lows. He found it to be oddly comforting.

"Could, er, could you help me keep that information confidential? Even from Tony?" the archer asked somewhat timidly. He and JARVIS had been partners in crime in a few pranks since his arrival at the tower but this was definitely a different kind of request.

"I will do everything in my power to help you to do so, as long as it doesn't conflict with my higher order programming," confirmed JARVIS.

Clint sighed with relief and swigged from his rapidly depleting stock of vodka. "What could conflict, JARV?"

"There are only three commands placed higher than the safety and well-being of the Avengers. The safety and well-being of Mr Stark takes precedence..." began JARVIS.

"Naturally," Clint acknowledged. That much was obvious. "I assume the next is the same but for Pepper, yeah?"

"Indeed, Miss Potts is then afforded the same conditions. The third is the physical safety of the civilians in and around the tower. Sir believes that the Avengers and SHIELD personnel should be able to take care of themselves so their safety has been relegated lower in my programming. As long as the subject of your arrangement does not come into conflict with these conditions, I will never divulge the information. Even to Sir."

"Thanks JARV, you're a gem," smiled Clint sadly.

"Naturally, Mr Barton," agreed the AI which elicited a small laugh from the miserable man. Clint drank in silence for a while and noticed his bottle was almost empty. That sucked, even though it was only about half the size of a regular one. The archer added a mental note not to piss off Tasha three days before his birthday, it caused her to be less generous than usual.

Clint nearly dropped the vodka when JARVIS's voice reminded him that it was almost time for the team dinner. He downed the rest and unsteadily rose to his feet. The world swam more pleasantly around him. The pain he'd been feeling in his chest since the day before had become a dull ache. Still noticeable but muted. He actually felt like he could survive this dinner intact. Maybe. "Hey JARVIS?" he called out.

"Yes, Mr Barton?"

"If you think I'm gonna be caught out at dinner or something, could you maybe help me out?"

"With a distraction of some sort perhaps?" asked the AI with a tinge of smugness.

"JARV, you're a genius. If you were human, I swear we'd be married," Clint smirked.

"Only if the ring is a Harry Winston," noted JARVIS snootily, causing the archer to laugh properly for the first time since the unexpected news.

"Only the best for you, hey JARV?" said Clint when his laughing eventually receded.

"Of course."

Clint made his way to the elevator and then the kitchen. Bruce smiled as he gave him a stack of bowls and the archer laid them out in the adjoining dining room. It had become a habit for everyone attending the dinner to help in some way. Not wanting to get stuck with doing the dishes, he thought he'd tackle an infinitely easier job. Made slightly more difficult due to the alcohol but pretty easy nonetheless. He had a strong suspicion he might need a quick getaway later on and getting stuck in the kitchen would be counterproductive.

It seemed the gamma radiation scientist had whipped up a traditional Indian luksa and it smelled heavenly. There were buttered and unbuttered slices of bread, extra chopped vegetables and carved meat laid out in the centre of the table so everyone could add whatever flavours they wanted to. Clint's mouth was watering in anticipation. Soon the dinner table was full of people all hungrily eyeing the food.

When Bruce finally sat with a pleased huff, Rogers cleared his throat. He lowered his head and said Grace and even though most of the others weren't the type, it had become a part of their routine. How could they deny the poor man one of the few things that hadn't really changed since the forties?

Clint sat still as Steve thanked God (who Clint certainly did not believe in, especially not after this) for keeping their team members safe again and asked for Him to watch over Natasha in Canada so she would return home safely. He then went on to thank God for his family (they were once just friends but now, they had sort of become a family) and then for Phil. Clint was pleased he had already drank the full bottle of vodka and that he wasn't holding anyone's hand at the time or they would have felt his involuntary spasm at the mention of the relationship.

After Cap started waxing on about Coulson, Tony abruptly interrupted him with, "For God's sake, Steve. Talk about him while we eat. I'm starving and the robotics sure don't weld themselves."

Cap blushed a deep scarlet while a flutter of appreciative giggles travelled around the table. He gestured wordlessly at the meal and the usual table chatter began as the Avengers savaged their dinner. Clint's taste buds were in heaven. Even though Bruce's globetrotting didn't help too much for his research, it did wonders for his culinary skills.

Clint had been focussed on getting every drop of the luksa on the inside of his bowl with a slice of bread when Coulson startled him with a sharp, "Barton!" He looked at the agent with surprise.

"What?" he asked as the conversations around them fizzled out. What had he done? He was just eating dinner.

The agent look at his asset with suspicion. "You're being rather quiet at your end of the table."

Clint shrugged. "It's too good to talk through, Bruce." He sent a smile the chef's way which was gratefully returned. Many of the others shared his sentiment.

Coulson however was not to be put off. He kept shooting a guarded stare Clint's way. Nearly everyone had finished eating before the agent spoke up again. "You're drunk, aren't you." It wasn't a question.

The archer nodded as the Avengers looked at him warily.

"You've been drinking without moi?" asked Tony in a mock hurt tone.

Clint shrugged, "Sorry Iron Brat, I was participating in a Skype drinking game."

"JARVIS, how much of my alcohol has Bird Brain drunk?" Tony asked his British conscience.

"None Sir," came the ever-present voice in reply.

Tony's eyes narrowed on him. Clint shrugged again. "It's been a while since I've seen Tasha so I logged on with a couple of friends and drank the vodka she bought me for my last birthday."

"Who are these friends and why were we not invited to this party?" asked Thor loudly, of course. His expression was a cross between an angry glare and a cute pout.

"Just some of the many nameless SHIELD agents I knew from before the Avengers," said Clint who was starting to worry about this line of questioning. The lie of a drinking game was pretty much the only plausible explanation he could give them to assuage their suspicions. Originally he was going to say he was drinking with Nat but then Coulson would have checked in with her and discovered the lie.

"Did you best the weaklings with your drinking prowess?" Thor talked over the many questions thrown Clint's way. He spoke as if the answer was already clear and there was a note of pride in his voice.

"Of co..." started Clint but a loud explosion ended the conversation. Cap, Coulson and Bruce immediately sprang to their feet. Normally Clint would have too but his inebriation had dulled his body's automatic response to a blast.

"JARVIS?" asked Tony from his chair as he used his napkin.

"It would appear that the toaster that you made sentient a few weeks ago has, for some reason, detonated," the AI informed him.

Cap raced into the kitchen and put out the couple of small, lingering fires as Bruce sat back down heavily, taking some deep breaths. Tony was muttering to himself, no doubt trying to work out why his toaster had blown up.

Thor crossed his arms and pouted at the table. "Now how am I supposed to make the tarts that pop (but do not really pop) now? Gwenelg would always tell me what to do since the buttons would sometimes change places."

"For the last time, Shakira," snarked Tony, "The toaster does not have a name!"

"But in the mighty halls of Asgard, Gwenelg used to prepare the most amazing feasts, worthy of..."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever," grumbled Tony in exasperation. "It was just a bloody toaster."

The prince looked horrified. "It used blood? If I had known it used dark magic to prepare..."

Clint tuned out of the rapidly degenerating conversation and made his escape, snagging a new bottle of vodka from one of Tony's bars on the way. He chuckled to himself. Now he had taken some of the multi-billionaire's alcohol.

When he was safely sequestered in his room, Clint called out, "Thanks JARV. I'm pretty sure that you just saved my ass out there."

"It's just one of my many talents, Mr Barton," came the pleased-sounding reply.

Clint chuckled. Without any fanfare, he opened the bottle and started round two. He bravely called Nat who chastised him immediately for drinking from the bottle (how did she even know? Bloody super spies) and since she was waiting in a bar for an informant at the time, they actually did drink a few shots of vodka together. He could tell she knew something was up but she didn't press him for details and he just hoped to hell she didn't call up Coulson about it.

Natasha swore and the call abruptly ended so Clint assumed her operation had just gone south and he hoped she would be okay, even though she's the fucking Black Widow. She's ALWAYS okay.

After the second bottle was completely consumed and the alcohol really started to catch up with him, Clint unfortunately began to hear the sounds of very loud sex.

Clint froze. He'd never really noticed that Cap was living directly below him until then.

Clint found his IPod and jammed the buds into his ears as quickly as he could. Electropop covered the sounds that he knew were still going on and his mind just kept torturing him with the information. It was then that he came to a very unpleasant realisation. If he could hear Cap and Coulson... doing that. Then Cap would have heard them... doing that too. He must have known.

Sitting still for a moment, Clint let that information sink in.

The first thing he thought was that it was the most un-American thing Rogers had ever done. Especially since the man was Christian. Whatever happened to _Thy shall not covet their friend's lov... no, boyf... er... fuckbuddy_? Add that to Coulson's hurtful betrayal and Clint didn't think he could do this anymore. He couldn't have his handler and his field commander fucking without being completely compromised. Especially since they both knew he had been in a long term whatever and neither had the balls to say ANYTHING about it to his damn face. And they expected him to be happy? Thrilled? Fucking ecstatic? NO FUCKING WAY.

He's out.


	2. Arranging his X-it

**A to X**

_Chapter Two - Arranging his X-it_

The only thing to do now was to leave.

If Clint went directly to Fury about resigning he knew exactly what would happen. Fury would live up to his name and yell. A lot. Clint was well aware that although the director's office was soundproofed, when he was enraged, everyone in the vicinity couldn't help but hear his roaring. Thus someone would overhear the reasoning behind his resignation (since Fury would somehow get it out of him) and there would probably be a network-wide memo about it mere moments later. There was no way he'd air their dirty laundry around SHIELD if he could help it. It also didn't help that out of everyone, he'd be the one somehow painted as the villain. Too many of his colleagues still looked down on him for the whole Loki thing. No need to give them more ammunition.

Commander Hill was second in line but just, no. Ordinarily the type of person she was (a smart, hard-assed, career driven, field agent veteran) would encourage Clint to like her. Unfortunately since he'd shot at her under Loki's control before the Manhattan invasion, she avoided him like he was contagious and refused to talk to him unless she was personally ordered to by Fury. The agent would always send a courier if she could and avoided face to face confrontations at all costs. If he rocked up at her door, she'd either punch him or shoot him out of reflex and he liked his balls exactly where they were.

The only other superior Clint could possibly file his notification of the end of his employment to was Coulson himself and there was no way that was happening. He would never be having that particular conversation, even under torture. Anyway, since he apparently wasn't in a real relationship in the first place, why treat it as one and confront the bastard?

So it looked like Clint wouldn't be leaving SHIELD under amenable circumstances. It was sort of a pity since they had given him a life and way more chances whenever he screwed up than they really should have. He'd have to disappear permanently. Live somewhere that Nick Fury would not be able to find him. The way he saw it, there were three options; go civilian, mercenary or hero for hire.

Option number one. Go to ground and try to live a boring, mundane life.

This choice was discarded almost as soon as Clint thought it. Unfortunately, there wasn't much an uneducated American could do for a regular job. Especially when the largest military force in the USA (no matter how covert) would be searching high and low for him. Even knowing in intimate detail how easy it was to disappear, staying hidden permanently was one of the most difficult things an agent could successfully achieve. He'd no doubt screw it up at some point and did not want to be hauled back to SHIELD.

Option number two. Turn from hero to villain and lease himself out as a freelance assassin for hire.

There was no doubt about Clint's specific skill set. If he wished to continue doing the work he was exceptionally good at (without returning to a damn circus) he'd have to be an assassin for hire. After being on the side of the angels for so long, he couldn't really see himself working for criminals. He also doubted they'd want to hire an ex-SHIELD agent and ex-Avenger as they'd suspect a doublecross. The days of shoot first, collect money later from any random Joe seemed to be long gone.

Which left option number three. Blend in with a team of heroes.

Escaping the biggest intelligence agency on the planet would be extremely difficult unless he found some trustworthy friends to help camouflage him. So he brainstormed and tried to work out which teams might be viable to join.

The Fantastic Four were easily out. One word, four. Plus they already had strong ties to the government and in some cases, SHIELD itself. That was so not happening. It was also why Delta Force was out. It was run by the bloody Pentagon. Also, he wasn't even supposed to know about that team. He may have at some point stationed himself in a vent near Fury's office before the bastard caught on and installed laser grids. But oh the things he had heard before then...

Clint considered going abroad where SHIELD's influence would be lessened. The obvious choice would be Alpha Flight in Canada but they, just like the Avengers, were too much in the public spotlight. Same with Excalibur in England. It would also be pretty damn obvious that he was not native to those countries and doubted they would want him in the first place.

No. What Clint really needed was to somehow find a team in the USA, preferably away from the middle of Manhattan. It had to be a place where SHIELD was at the very least, distrusted. Somewhere he could blend in without drawing too much attention to himself. An abode where others could help him do so. That's when an idea came to him.

The X-men.

Sure, Clint wasn't a mutant but he was pretty exceptional and might be able to pass for one in a pinch. Super sight or some such excuse. He'd met a few of them before and they were highly distrustful of SHIELD and if memory serves, Wolverine was the only one who would really have anything to do with Nick Fury anymore. Apparently he knew his father from a war in the past or something.

Yes. Clint decided to try to join the X-men if they'll have him. If they didn't want him because they were mutant snobs or something, hopefully they'd at least help him get on his feet before they kicked him to the curb.

If memory served the archer correctly, the X-mansion was about fifty-five miles northeast of the tower. The difficult parts would be remaining getting there unseen by SHIELD and actually getting into mansion. There would definitely be some sort of surveillance of the facility from both SHIELD and the X-men themselves. Then if he did make it there, he'd have to somehow convince the residents that he was not some sort of deep cover agent and was legitimately looking for asylum. That shouldn't be too hard since Charles Xavier and Jean Grey are both telepaths.

Clint looked around his room, well floor really. It had been nice to be a part of this family. Pity a couple of days and two inconsiderate men shattered the first place that had ever really felt like home to him. He grabbed his black mission duffel bag and emptied the contents onto his bed. No doubt most of his SHIELD standard equipment would have hidden tracers so he needed to take only what was absolutely necessary.

Clint located his man-bag (as Tony called it; a Christmas gift from him last year) and started filling it with his firearms. It was a plain black bag with several compartments and a velcro flap that covered the pockets from view. He took his stash of cash and put it in one, his bag of breaking and entering tools in another and some c4 in a third. He packed very little sentimental paraphernalia. The spider boxer shorts, one of his plain arrows (as a memento) and two photos taken out of their frames since he couldn't be sure they weren't bugged either. One was of the Avengers as a team, taken after the battle of Manhattan atop Stark tower by Pepper, right after she slapped Tony for almost dying on her. The other photograph was of just himself and Natasha. It had been snapped in Vladivostok after a very drunken binge when they had been turfed from a local bar. It was a selfie as they lay giggling in the snow on the sidewalk of some random street. Priceless.

The archer who was now nude (since he'd just packed his boxers) donned a plain purple sleeveless top, black jeans with shoes and socks but didn't bother packing any other clothes. He could buy new stuff later. Or just rough it. Either one. SHIELD had probably placed tracers in his clothes too. He wouldn't put it past them. Hopefully the one's he'd chosen weren't bugged or this excursion might be extremely short lived.

Knowing this was the last time he'd be here, Clint set everything back in its proper place before lovingly caressing his bow. No matter what he chose to do now, there was no way he'd be able to use one in public without announcing his reappearance like a lighthouse in the dead of the night. Just the thought of leaving it behind felt like he was hacking off his left arm but it had to be done. He carefully placed it on his bed and sent it one last smile. They'd been through hell together, many times over. Hopefully, Nat would take it before Fury could confiscate it and snap it in anger.

"Hey JARV? It's was pleasure living with you," Clint shakily announced to the ever-present artificial intelligence as he donned the now packed man-bag. The majority of the buzz he'd had from the alcohol was long gone, no longer dampening the feelings of hurt, anger, shame and regret at the loud sounds he could still hear coming through the floor. He had to get out of here. Now.

"Likewise, Mr Barton. Have a safe journey," the British voice returned.

Clint smiled at the ceiling and slipped silently from his room. As an assassin, the archer had mapped the blind spots of the tower (the remaining two point four percent of JARVIS's extensive coverage apparently) in his first week of living there. He stuck to them and made sure his exit was not visible by sticking to the vents, the elevator shaft and maintenance hatches. Soon he was standing by the garbage disposal bins (after having climbed down the chute) and started walking down the street.

A few blocks later, Clint found one of those touristy shops selling random American crap, along with all sorts of other supplies. He slipped a hand into one of the pockets of his bag and flicked on the low level electronics scrambler in his tool set. It was the only electronic device he'd brought with him. All it does is cause nearby security cameras to blur, making the people in the images indistinct.

Clint headed into the store, locating a new shirt (a stupid I heart NY one that he swore to Natasha he would never, ever wear) a black shoulder-length wig, some black lipstick, mascara, eyeliner and nail polish, a compact mirror, a black permanent marker and three chain-link dog leashes. After he'd purchased his new items and stored them in his man-bag, he switched off the scrambler after he made his way back outside and to a nearby bank. He needed to be seen as he was in the bank to throw SHIELD off his trail. Plus the scrambler had very limited battery life. He wanted to conserve it for the X-mansion, just in case he needed to infiltrate it.

The JPMorgan branch was as elegant as always and Tony insisted that each Avenger needed an account at one since it was apparently renowned for its customer service and confidentiality. Clint was counting on the latter to hold true. A smartly dressed blonde woman with a clipboard and a smile met him mere meters into the foyer, where she barged the unfortunate employee that had just walked up to him out of the way. He looked up angrily but his face blanched and he hastily moved to another customer. Clint found the silent exchange rather amusing and couldn't help but smirk at the other employee who was now listening to a harassed-looking woman with a screaming baby clutched in her arms.

"Welcome, Mr Barton," stated the blonde with a smile, dragging his attention back to where it belonged. "It's a pleasure to meet you. My name is Tessa. I'm the senior executive of this branch of JPMorgan. How can I help you this evening?" She peered at the Avenger with her hand outstretched, through her black wire-framed glasses with a polite look as Clint stared at her in shock.

"Um, pardon my asking," the assassin murmured as he warily shook her hand, still reeling in shock. "How did you know who I am? I've never even been to one of your banks before." It was true. Tony had taken care of everything.

The bank executive's polite smile curled up into a more genuine one. "Mr Stark delivered us the profiles of all the Avengers and allowed us licence to invest up to half of your money to reach its full potential as we saw fit. In addition, he provided us with voice prints, biometric information and facial recognition software so that your money would remain one hundred percent secure."

Now that made sense to Clint. Of course Tony would just hand out his confidential information if it was for what the genius considered to be his own good. "I see. Is there somewhere more, er, private that we could...?"

Tessa saved him from floundering by expertly cutting through his burbling. "Of course, Mr Barton. Please follow me." Without waiting for a response, the woman turned to the left and walked down a corridor, junior officers dodging expertly out of her way.

Clint smiled at the woman and smartly kept up before smirking at the other bank employees catching their breath in her wake. It was official. He liked her. He also suspected that she was also a dominatrix and would probably like restraining her chosen bed-mates with chains hanging from the ceiling, possibly even in the office he was headed to.

Eventually, Tessa led the man into a standard board room and as he sat, a glass of chilled wine was placed next to him. No wonder Tony chose this bank. He couldn't help glancing at the ceiling, looking for evidence of chains but sadly found none. The executive sat across from Clint and patiently waited for him to state his business.

Not one to turn down a free drink, Clint delicately sipped from the glass as he collected his thoughts. "Originally, I was going to close my account. I'm at odds with the Avengers and have left the team." His gaze flicked to Tessa who remained inscrutable. "Another avenue may be open to us dependant on your answer to one simple question. Does SHIELD hold any sway, no matter how small, over your operation?"

Tessa returned his stare as she outlined that no, SHIELD just like every other government organisation, could not subvert or bypass their security without outright assaulting the facility. When her client seemed to blanch, she assured him, "They would never compromise this bank. Seventeen of our top one hundred clients, yourself not included, are SHIELD agents," Clint's eyes widened, "counting Director Fury himself. By the sounds of it, Mr Stark set up your account without your knowledge." The woman scowled. That was apparently a big no-no.

The woman tapped a few buttons on the table and a holographic interface appeared. Clint assumed this would impress other important businessmen and women but as he'd lived with Iron Man for well over a year, technology rarely impressed the archer anymore.

Tessa brought up a signed agreement that Clint realised was actually his own that he was certain he'd never even seen before. A passage was highlighted and it increased in size to become easily readable.

**The client hereby approves that if the client in any way attempts to gain access (legally or illicitly) to another client's account information, the former's money will be confiscated in recompense to the bank to be utilised as the bank sees fit.**

Clint blinked a couple of times. "So, if this is the standard agreement, Nick Fury would lose all of his money if he tried to get any details out of you, right?"

White teeth gleamed his direction as Tessa confirmed his statement. "Absolutely, Mr Barton." She flicked a few controls on the table and two names floated up. **Anthony Stark** and **Virginia** **Potts**. "Those two clients are the only two listed that can access your account information on your behalf without invoking this particular consequence."

As much as Clint wanted to trust the two of them, Fury would do whatever he needed to do to either get Clint back or get rid of him permanently. Blackmailing his friends would be child's play.

"Can I please get them removed from this listing? Also, Tony has probably come up with some sort of tracing software that he may have installed in my banking card. I'd like a new one. In fact, it might be safer to close that particular account number and open a new one altogether. He's a genius and Pepper is the most efficient CEO I've ever met. They both probably have my details memorised," Clint looked morosely at the holographic interface. He felt like he was the one betraying them, his family. It did not feel good, however necessary the action was.

Tessa had already been flicking through screens as he spoke and it was clear she had earned her position through sheer competency. A mere twelve minutes later, she was escorting him out the front door with a smile, a wave and a new bankcard, credit card and business card in his hand. "If you ever need anything, Mr Barton, that number is my personal cell. I'm completely at your disposal."

"Thank you, Tessa," he smiled at the woman. She'd just made his life a thousand times easier. Unlike most runaways, he could actually use his credit card without being traced. With a jaunty wave, he walked a couple of blocks east and entered a random alley.

Clint removed his purple top and lobbed it into a nearby open trash can. He uncapped the permanent marker and drew a cross through the love heart on his new shirt. Underneath he messily wrote a few words on the white fabric before he carefully donned it and the wig. He then put on the mascara, lipstick and nail polish before using liberal amounts of the eyeliner on the bags under his sharp eyes. He would have used coloured contacts too but the shop didn't have any. Pity. After linking one of the leashes around him three times through his belt loops, he tied the second around his neck and he added the third loosely looped on his person.

Heaving a deep breath, Clint tossed the rest of the now unneeded products and their wrappings in a random trashcan on his way back to the streets. He pretended to be admiring a shirt in a nearby window display so he could take in his reflection. It was pretty damn good for a last minute disguise. His shirt now read **I **(don't heart) **NY because I'm emo**. If only Tasha could see him now! She would laugh herself stupid (well, just smirk because she never actually laughed unless it was necessary for her cover) at the mere sight of him.

Clint boarded a bus headed north and considered his options on how to infiltrate the X-men's home base.

The only real advantage he had over the mansion's security systems is that they were more likely to be aimed at detecting a horde of mutant villains rather than one single human. It was another one of those moments that he felt proud to be just a regular Joe. It also wasn't the first time he'd be infiltrating somewhere without intel or Coulson in his ear. No. There was no way he'd be letting Coulson near his ear or any other part of him at all. Ever.

The hardest part about plotting, planning or even thinking was that no matter what he tried, his thoughts would invariably return to Coulson. How could the sharpest handler SHIELD he ever had not notice that his asset that he'd been fucking for over a year had fallen completely ass over tit in love with him? Sure Clint knew he saw things better from a distance but Coulson, not so much. Nothing ever really slipped him by. How could he not have seen it?

Then again, it just bought home what Clint always feared in his heart. No matter what he did, he was still a good for nothing circus punk who could never compare to a war veteran who was the pinnacle of human perfection. Why would Coulson want someone as needy and damaged as him when he could have Captain fucking America? Well, he obviously didn't. He'd cast him out like a drunkard at closing time and treated him like second-hand car he could use until he could afford the new one he actually wanted. It made his heart slump further and the only thing stopping tears from dropping down his cheeks as he stared out the window was knowing his makeup would run and draw unneeded attention.

After he sat in the bus for a while and trying (but failing) not think of Coulson, he knew he needed to find out how far away he was from the X-mansion. Originally he was going to charm a woman near him into borrowing her iPad but thankfully remembered he was now dressed as an emo and that probably wouldn't work. Instead he picked the pocket of the man in front of him, who luckily just had a swipe function on his phone and no password (what an idiot) so he quickly worked out he was nearly as close as he could get via public transport.

Clint thanked the driver as he stepped off the bus and considered hotwiring a car. Committing an offence while he was already on the run from SHIELD was probably already pushing his luck so he walked.

It was now the early hours of the morning so Clint had to make one last major choice. Should he break in under the cover of darkness now or do the polite thing by waiting until daybreak and knocking? It would be better for him to wait but chances are the Avengers would soon work out he was missing and it would only be a matter of time before SHIELD started tracking him. Plus he was more likely to be caught on a SHIELD monitored camera during the day. Well, it wasn't really a choice after all. Infiltration was a go.

Having memorised the map from that idiot guy's phone, Clint unerringly followed the streets to the left side (it would be the more shadowy side thanks to an almost full moon) of the mansion's grounds since surveillance was likely to be focussed on the front and back. As time was of the essence, he immediately began hoisting himself over the impressively large fence. He rolled as he hit the ground and kept his ears sharpened for any sign of alarm or possibly even automated defences. The X-men weren't stupid and would guard their home well. Hearing nothing other than his own breathing, he cautiously made his way to the wall of the mansion.

Clint vaguely remembered hearing that the mansion had been attacked by the army a couple of months back so there was no telling what kinds of improvements they could have made to their security. Knowing there would probably be more security on the bottom and top floors, Clint chose to scale the building and enter from somewhere in the middle. It took him a few minutes of shimmying around before he heard the distinctive sound of snoring. Bingo.

The window was already ajar and Clint carefully raised it up and slipped in over the bed without disturbing the teen who was almost muttering in his sleep. He then gently lowered the window back to its previous position and crept out of the room.

The hallway was well lit, much to Clint's consternation but was also mercifully empty. It was like a university dorm (yes, he'd actually seen one before on a mission) with names and personalised items like stickers and posters attached. This made it easier for him to find an empty room to bunk down in since he was now woefully tired. It seemed the late hour and the situation, exacerbated by the alcohol was finally catching up with him. Despite his frantic thoughts of Coulson and Cap plus his edginess at being in unfamiliar territory, he found himself quickly lulled to sleep.


	3. Awakened by Xavier

**A to X**

_Chapter Three - Awakened by Xavier_

Clint awoke, immediately alert, to the sounds of a knock at his appropriated door. The rapping occurred again and a warm, rich voice carried through the wood. "Good morning, Clint. I hope you slept well. May I please have a word with you?"

Quickly getting over his shock and since the male voice didn't sound particularly hostile, the archer padded across the room and carefully edged the door open. Although he hadn't met the man before, Charles Xavier's reputation preceded him and Clint doubted there would be more than one bald headed, wheelchair bound man in the facility.

With a gentle smile that reached his eyes and without invitation, the man rolled into the room and waited for Clint to shut the door. Before he did so, he noticed a few heads poking out from behind their doors and he swore to himself as he firmly closed the door. He turned to the man and really didn't know what to do or say. It was quite a surreal feeling for him after knowing his place and role for so long. He didn't like it at all.

"Please sit," said the man in a tone that was more like command than a request.

Clint hastened to do so. "I'm so sorry," he blurted without meaning to and he blushed. "I mean, well, I am sorry about sneaking in and everything but I, er, um, hi. I'm Clint Barton, Hawkeye but, erm, you already knew that, um..." Why couldn't he stop burbling?

Laughter peeled through the room and despite it being at his expense, it seemed to pacify him. "Calm down, Agent Barton," suggested the man who then carefully frowned. "I'm sorry, I didn't know that terminology would upset you. Is there something you would prefer to be called instead?"

Clint looked confusedly at the disabled man before remembering he was a telepath and might heard some rather unflattering thoughts at his name being spoken the way Coulson used to say it. He then swore a couple of times in his head before realising the man would have heard that too, which caused him to swear internally some more...

A hand reached out and fell gently on his knee, snapping Clint from his very disjointed thoughts. He barely quelled the instinct to grab and snap the wrist of its holder and although he felt the hand twitch in response to his instinct, it remained in its place.

"How about I start, hmm?" began the man with a smile, attracting Clint's eyes from the hand on his leg. "My name, as you have already gathered is Charles Xavier and although it is not common knowledge, I am the leader of the X-men. Welcome to my mansion."

"Hey," smiled Clint and he chose to cheekily mimic the statements. "My name, as you have already gathered is Clinton Barton and although it is common knowledge, I am, er was, a member of the Avengers. Thanks for not zapping my mind or something like that for sneaking into your mansion without permission. And, er, just Clint is fine." He smiled as he examined Xavier. The man sat almost regally in his wheelchair, which if Fury's files were correct, was a souvenir from a confrontation with Magneto. It was clear that just like with Tony Stark, the man had come from money but thankfully he didn't seem conceited or arrogant. There was a distinct lilt to his voice which was extremely soothing and Clint couldn't tell if it were due to an accent or lessons in elocution. Possibly both.

"And feel free to call me Charles or Xavier. Either suits me fine," said Xavier with a kind smile.

Clint gave him a smile in return. There was a knock at the door and a lithe red-haired woman silently entered the room. The door swung itself closed behind her. She was incredibly beautiful which was enhanced by her dazzling smile.

"Hello handsome, I'm Dr Jean Grey. We were never formally introduced last year at that joint assault against the Skrull Empire," she said soothingly.

Clint remembered it well. Those green shape-shifting freaks had tried taking over the planet by infiltrating every powerful organisation on the planet. Even the Avengers had been compromised. Sam Wilson (the new guy) was a Skrull from the start and although the archer had nothing to do with the invasion, the other SHIELD employees were wary around him for weeks since he'd 'helped' Loki previously. It was fucking ridiculous. He turned his attention back to the woman. "Yeah, things were a bit tense there. How's, er, Beast, was it?"

The woman's smile slid from her face. "That's correct. Hank was a little worse for wear after his incarceration but he always bounces back strong. The Skrull in his place was very persuasive," she said softly. Her eyes flicked to Xavier. "It's definitely him," she verified. Finally her presence in the room became apparent. He didn't hold it against her. She had a whole mansion full of mutants to protect.

"Thank you Jean," Xavier noted. He turned his attention back to Clint. "We can speak one on one if you prefer but I trust Jean with my life and she may be helpful with our, situation."

Clint thought about the offer and decided that since the woman was telepathic and already knew who he was, it would probably be best if she stayed. "It's fine," he said.

"Alright," conceded Charles whose eyes darted to Jean who stared back at the bald man. They stared at each other for a few moments and Clint assumed they were conversing telepathically so he waited patiently for them to finish.

When the pair refocused their attention back on Clint, he shifted uneasily on the bed. He didn't know where to start in his tale. He looked to Xavier, then Jean. "Do you want me to tell you what's going on or do you already know everything?" he asked.

Xavier smiled at the archer. "You may know that we are telepaths but you don't really know how that works. Contrary to popular belief, we cannot read your mind like a novel. Well we could but only if we forced our way in and you would be well aware of the intrusion."

"Don't worry, Clint. We would never enter your mind without permission. It goes against all our beliefs. We would only do so in the direst of situations," soothed Jean. "I can call you Clint, yes?"

The archer tried smiling but failed, so he nodded instead. "That's fine," he eventually stuttered out. He couldn't help the paralysing fear he felt at the idea of someone entering his mind again. The whole thing just reminded him of his run in with Loki. The loss of control still featured regularly in his nightmares.

Xavier seemed to sense Clint's unease and tightened his grip on Clint's knee. It startled the archer who had forgotten it was still there in the first place. "Even in those ominous situations, I'm loathe to force myself into someone's mind. There is nothing I treasure more than free will," stated Xavier firmly and Clint calmed somewhat at his sure tone. "However, a side effect of telepathy as such is that despite the years of training, no matter how hard we try, there are some thoughts we still can't help but overhear."

"Really?" asked Clint with surprise. He'd assumed telepaths were just nosy bastards. Perhaps they weren't as bad as he thought.

"Yes," answered Jean with pursed lips. "I heard you yelling at Loki in your head. What did he do to you?"

Clint blanched at the Asgardian's name. "During the Chitauri invasion of Manhattan, Loki invaded my mind and enslaved me. It was, pretty fucking horrifying."

Both Xavier and Jean gave each other stony looks. They seemed to converse again with their eyes.

Clint cleared his throat and drew the pair's attention back to him. "So I assume you're telling me about this because I'm mentally screaming at you?"

"Yep," chirped Jean. "I could hear something howling loudly. So loudly that it woke me up..."

"Oh shit, I'm so sorry," squeaked Clint with embarrassment.

The redhead waved off the apology as unnecessary. "Don't worry about it, you can't control your subconscious when you dream. It was all jumbled up but what I did notice was how much pain the mind was in. I spent a while trying to work out which student it belonged to."

Xavier chuckled and then said, "Imagine our surprise when we worked out that we had an unexpected guest. That's not as rare an occurrence as you may think. What was surprising was that our guest was not a mutant." Xavier's eyes flicked to the doctor. "It seems there's a loophole in our security system."

"I'll get Forge right on it," nodded Jean who closed her eyes and scrunched her forehead in concentration for a few moments. "He's on it."

Clint blinked in surprise. Now that would be a useful skill in the field.

"Along with the yelling, I could hear immense exhaustion," noted Xavier. "So after a brief mental conversation with Jean, we decided to block out as much of the information as we could and let you sleep."

"Thanks," smiled Clint sheepishly. He felt bad about keeping the pair awake even though he had no idea that he was doing so at the time.

"What did bleed through," continued Xavier as if Clint had said nothing at all, "were some names and emotions."

"I remember the word Coulson was said the most," stated Jean thoughtfully, "followed by someone called Tasha. Then Cap and Loki. I didn't really pick up any others. How about you, Professor?"

Xavier sat in silent contemplation for a moment before replying, "No. I think that was everyone. Wait, except someone called Jarv. The intense emotions I heard were anger, regret, love, agony, despair, fondness, hatred and something that I felt like betrayal. Of course how these emotions and the people in question relate, we are unaware."

Although he could feel the tears forming in his eyes, Clint could find no way to force them away. "I, he... we, er, fuck, ah... we, we were in a relation... No, no, no, we had an arrangement. Coulson and I. For over a year. I stupidly, well, I couldn't help it. I thought we'd moved from fucking around to an actual relationship and somewhere along the way..." he trailed off with a pained noise. Tasha would have smacked him over the head for being this damn pathetic but she wasn't here. She was still in bloody fucking Canada when he needed her.

"You fell in love," finished Jean in a gentle, empathetic tone. She looked pityingly at him before making a snap decision. A few moments later, Clint found himself in the middle of a strong hug which he sorely needed and hated himself for needing it.

"Yeah. I always had strong feelings for him, right from the beginning when he was just my SHIELD handler," Clint choked out, as he extricated himself from Jean's embrace. "But then, that, that asshole walked in with Captain fucking America, the man he'd collected comic books about since he was a kid, and just announced they were a, thing, and they were all like happy and shit and expected me to be fucking happy for them too but how could I? The man I've had feelings for since he took me in, which morphed into love somewhere along the fucking way, had used me. Used me for some kind of cheap casual fuck and I, I, and I don't even know if he ever really wanted me at all. How many times was I deliriously happy and he was laying there wishing I was Steven goddam mother fucking Rogers?" He was basically yelling by now and Xavier placed his hands gently on his closed fists, showing his support. Which was just fucking crazy because he'd only met the man what, five damn minutes ago? To compound his shame, he felt tears streaking down his cheeks.

Xavier patted one of the fists gently. "Clint. You're going through a lot right now and we certainly don't need to get this worked up, this early in the morning. You're welcome to stay in this room as long as you like, it sounds like a change of location will do you good."

"Thank you," Clint said as he launched himself at the man and bear hugged him for all he was worth. No one had ever taken the time to care about him like this before. Barney was too busy looking after his own interests, Trickshot was just using him, SHIELD only wanted an assassin and the Avengers were his friends/family but by then he'd pretty much hardened his shell and kept them all at arm's length. Tasha knew him the best but she had many of the same trust issues and he'd thought he'd known Coulson but well that just went to shit. Didn't it?

Clint could feel a hand patting his back and it was rather soothing, if strange. He cleared his throat. "Thank you so much," he croaked out. He extricated himself from the prolonged hug and blushed as he sat back down on the bed. His bed for the moment apparently. "I am sorry for inviting myself in but I just couldn't think of anywhere else I could go to hide from SHIELD. Nicky will be hunting me down forever, Natasha even more so."

"Natasha?" asked Jean with a frown. "Is that the Tasha you kept mentioning last night?"

Clint blushed. He never called her Tasha in front of others. It had taken him a couple of years to earn the right to use it without getting punched in the jaw. He'd worn her down eventually but she would castrate him if she found out that others knew. He may just be a dead man now. "Yeah, Natasha Romanoff. The Black Widow."

"So that's the woman's name," said Xavier aloud to himself.

Clint's eyes widened. "Never tell anyone or she'll kill you, then me, then she'd resurrect me only to have the pleasure of killing me again."

Jean raised an eyebrow. "I thought you were partners or something. Well, actually I thought you were dating or married or the like but if you were with Coulson..." she trailed off.

Rolling his eyes at the blatant fishing for information, Clint answered anyway. "We were never together (he was lying, they had one drunken night that they both regretted) although I think Tasha hoped we would be. We have sparred together often and work well as a two man team but one on one? She kicks my ass every time unless I get extremely lucky. I am flattered that you might consider me anywhere near her level."

"Yes," said Xavier thoughtfully. "You have extensive marksmanship, infiltration and espionage experience. Also, you wouldn't trip up any mutant scanners. Would you have any aversion to working with the X-men if we needed your help?"

Clint couldn't help but smile. "Nope. None at all. Quite the opposite in fact. It would be great to still be needed and useful. The problem is that SHIELD has their fingers in a lot of pies. Hell, in pie frigging factories. If I were to go out in the field, I wouldn't be able to use a bow. I'd need different weaponry and probably a whole new identity since being one of the Avengers has made me a, erm, a celebrity I suppose. A lot of people recognise me on the street and if I was caught on camera... I, I can't let that happen."

There was a thoughtful silence around the room. Clint felt the repercussions of running from SHIELD were hitting home with the mutants. He hoped, damn he really hoped they'd still let him stay.

"I think," Xavier broke the silence, "that could be arranged."

"Really?" asked Clint with both surprise and unconcealed excitement.

Xavier smiled at him. "Yes. The other X-men you've worked with know the Hawkeye you. Not the, what are they called again..." said Xavier. He glanced at Clint's shirt. "Ah yes, not the emo you."

"Oh my God," squealed Clint in horror. He'd once again forgotten that he fell asleep in his disguise. The man blushed with mortification before leaping up and staring at his reflection in a mirror which was sitting over the desk. His mascara and eyeliner had run all over the place with his tears and he looked rather horrible as a whole. A quick look at Xavier confirmed his suspicion that he'd ruined the suit jacket too. "Oh God, I'm so sorry, Xavier. No that felt weird. I'm gonna stick with Charles. Yeah much better."

Xavier chuckled while Jean collapsed into giggles. "It's no bother," reassured Xavier. "I'll just get another one from my room. I always buy jackets in bulk. They tend to wear more than the pants." He wryly smiled at his disabled legs.

"So what will we tell the others, Charles?" asked Jean as she rolled her eyes at Xavier's poor humour about his disability.

"I think the best story will be that you're a friend of mine who's having trouble controlling your mutant powers and you've asked me for help," decided Xavier with a thoughtful nod.

"But I'm not a mutant," Clint said with confusion.

A calculating look came over Xavier's face. "But the others don't know that and really, it would be suspicious if you weren't. Consider it a deep cover assignment." Xavier scratched absently at his bald head as he thought. "I have a few ideas we'll need to discuss with another couple of friends of mine."

Jean's eyes narrowed before rising in surprise. "Well, it's a bold plan but with those two, it might just be possible." The mutant rose to her feet in a hurry. She gave Clint another brief hug. "Apparently," she sent a small glare at Charles, "I'm going for a quick drive to the mall to pick up a few things for you. I'll see you later." Without waiting for a response, the woman swept purposefully from the room.

"Might I suggest a shower to clean yourself up a bit?" hazarded Charles. "You might not want the others to see you this way."

Clint blushed again. "Sure." The man wheeled to the door. "Thanks Charles!" chirped Clint. When Xavier had left, Clint stripped and left the clothes in the bathroom. He walked back out and surveyed the room that was now his for the foreseeable future since he hadn't yet had the chance to do so.

The walls and ceiling were painted a pale cream colour which were thankfully dark enough not to remind him too much of SHIELD medical. The doors and floor were polished wood and the bed was rather large. Not Avenger tower large but way larger than that stupid bunk he had in SHIELD HQ. The windows were huge but were also lockable and the light brown coloured curtains were blackout ones so he'd be able to sleep during the day if necessary. The desk was large (wooden as well, naturally) with a comfortable looking chair in front of it. There were several empty bookshelves on one wall and blank spaces for posters and other decorative items on the others. A large wardrobe stood proudly to the side, waiting to be filled with a small silver bin sitting next to it, already lined with a plastic bag.

Clint looked at the closed door but decided against locking it and walked back in to the bathroom. If someone did walk in, they could just deal with the show. He had a feeling that room privacy was probably just as important here as it was in the tower where everyone had their own space but there were also communal areas to congregate in.

The bathroom was a plain white one complete with a shower and bath (one of Clint's guilty pleasures) combo, toilet, basin and mirror cabinet for toiletries. There were also hooks on the door for towels etc.

Clint was thankful to discover a rudimentary washing kit of generic soap, shampoo and conditioner plus towels under the sink and spent way to long luxuriating in the shower. After drying himself off, he left the towel around his hips and collapsed happily back onto the bed. His bed. He'd have to get used to the fact that he might be here at the X-mansion for a while.

A knock at the door startled him out of an impromptu nap and Xavier called out that it was him. Clint hastened to let him in and they were soon back in the positions they were occupying during their initial meeting. He noticed the suit jacket had been replaced and looked like the crying incident had never occurred over him at all. The only real differences to before was the lack of Jean, he was wearing only a towel and there were a couple of shopping bags, sitting on Xavier's lap.

"Hello again, Clint. You look much more refreshed now," the mutant smiled.

Clint smiled in contentment, "That shower was heavenly. I really needed it." He was unconcerned with his state of undress. He knew he looked great by most standards.

"Excellent. Well, I come with gifts," Xavier stated. "I took the liberty of organising some items for you that you might need to continue your charade." He handed over one of the bags which contained some permanent black hair dye, dark blue coloured contacts and a couple of black shirts, jeans, socks and boxer briefs. Just generic ones but somewhere to start.

"Thanks Charles," smirked Clint, "and just how did you know I was a boxer briefs kind of man?"

Xavier chuckled, "Well, I am telepathic after all. You can thank Jean for the speedy purchase."

Clint chortled too as he rolled off the bed and walked to his desk. He took great delight in throwing the hideous black wig he'd worn the previous night/morning in the bin. "Thank fuck for that." He retreated into the bathroom to don a new outfit. Just because he was comfortable flouncing around in a towel did not mean he was going to strip in front of the man who still invited him into his home after he'd already broken in. He returned to the bed and eyed the second bag with interest.

Rolling his eyes at the lack of subtlety, Xavier didn't hand it to Clint. "Alright, I've done a little research and found a missing person. He disappeared when he was thirteen. The boy ran away from an orphanage and no one has seen him since. His colouring and probable age matches up with you and if you find it acceptable, and not too distasteful, you could adopt his persona as your own." He peered questioningly at the archer, not really knowing how he would react.

Clint blinked a few times. It sounded like it could have been him. If it weren't for the circus, he'd probably have died. As weird as it might be, it was only a cover after all. Sure it was way more deep cover than he was used to but that's all it was. A disguise. Most of his SHIELD covers came from similar means. "Okay," he assented and couldn't help but notice Xavier's palpable relief.

Charles extracted from the bag and handed over a couple of printed out pages on the boy, Flint Robertson. Born in Pennsylvania, raised by a single father as the mother, Celeste, died in childbirth. There was a strong suspicion that the boy may have been beaten by his father but nothing was ever proven. The father, Luke, died from alcohol poisoning and from there Flint had bounced around the foster care system for a couple of years before disappearing completely. It really did sound like it could have been him and in a way, that made it a little easier to accept. Let the poor boy live a little through him since he probably didn't even survive to his fourteenth birthday.

Clearing his throat, Xavier said, "I tried to find someone with a name close to your own so that if Jean or I make an error (or anyone else you see fit to confide in for that matter) it would be less obvious to the others. They hopefully wouldn't even notice a slip."

"Thank you, Charles," Clint mumbled with sincerity. It was rather overwhelming that someone he'd barely met would go out of their way so much for him. He doubted even Coulson would have done as much and ignored sick swoop in his stomach at the thought of his ex's name. Was he even an ex at all since they only had that damn arrangement? Clint was brought out of his thoughts by Xavier's voice.

"Welcome to the X-mansion, Flint Robertson," said Xavier with a smile. "I hope you survive the experience."


	4. Assembling an X-gene

Hey. A quick shout out to **foxfire222** for my first review. Thanks so much! I hope you and everyone else enjoys the next chapter. Cheers, Jace.

* * *

**A to X**

_Chapter Four - Assembling an X-gene_

Xavier smirked at the newly christened Flint. He removed two black chunky gloves from the bag that was still sitting on his lap. They appeared to be even thicker than Natasha's widow's bite wristbands. "Your accuracy is unparalleled, even within the superhuman community, so it would make sense that your powers should be somehow related to that. As we're nowhere near prepared to showcase your mutant abilities, I want you to wear these at all times."

Flint grimaced at the pair of gloves before resolutely taking them and putting them on. They fit alright, despite their chunky size but he knew they would annoy the hell out of him in the long term.

"Some mutants have trouble regulating their gifts," said Charles. "Rogue for instance can't have skin contact without absorbing the other's life force. Another student called Surge, a lovely Japanese girl, wears metallic gloves to help control her electric powers. For the moment, all we need to say is that your powers are playing up, I gave you these to help contain them and that you really don't want to talk about it at the moment. The others will understand. After lunch we'll visit a couple of friends of mine in the basement and we'll cook up some powers for you to get used to."

Now that he had mentioned it, Flint was pretty damn starving which was almost enough to distract him from the word basement. Basement? Really? He hadn't eaten anything since yesterday and lunch sounded amazing. "Alright," Flint agreed.

_Attention everyone,_ Xavier's voice boomed through the air and yet it was not aloud. Flint realised it must be telepathic communication. _I'm with an old friend of mine who will be staying with us for a while. Come down to lunch if you want to meet him at twelve-thirty, sharp._

Flint raised an eyebrow when Xavier turned his eyes back on the archer. A light red tinged the older man's cheeks. "I'm sorry, I forgot..."

"Pfft," shrugged Flint. "It's not my first rodeo and I've been trained to adapt on the fly."

Xavier smiled at him. "You definitely are an incredible individual, Cl... Flint." The smile turned a little sheepish at the stumble but Flint dutifully ignored it. He'd have to get used to it too. "Now, lunch is a little over an hour away," Xavier said over his groan, "which should give you plenty of time to dye your hair and don the rest of your disguise."

Flint smacked himself in the head with one of his overlarge gloves. "Shit, I'd forgotten about that. I'll get right on it." He grabbed the products and all but ran into the bathroom. He'd definitely be cutting it fine.

"I'll stop by on my way so you won't get accosted by the others," came Xavier's amused voice from the bedroom.

"Alright," yelled Flint as he was tearing open the dye packet. He was extremely careful with the skin near his hairline, knowing the dye would stain his skin if he wasn't. The archer noted his door closing as he massaged the dye in. He didn't bother donning the cheap plastic gloves since he was already wearing the black gloves and didn't have time to spare.

As he waited for the dye to set, the ex-Avenger unpacked his very meagre possessions around his room. He made sure his gun was under the pillow and the c4 (plus the rest of his armoury) were stowed safely in the bathroom cabinet. The electronics scrambler was lobbed into the bin. It was doubtful he'd need it again. He suspended the man-bag from a hook he found on the back of the door and carefully removed the two photographs, placing them safely in one of his desk drawers. He'd have to buy a frame for the one of him and Natasha since he couldn't display the Avengers one without drawing the wrong type of attention.

When he felt he had waited long enough, Flint rinsed the residue out of his hair and attacked his face with fervour. He didn't want to keep Xavier waiting. It was a strange feeling. He'd never really had someone to depend on before with the exception of Tasha and Coulson. Why did he trust the mutant so readily?

The contacts he applied were brilliant really. As his eyes were already blue, they just darkened the shade. He wouldn't have to worry about accidentally saying the wrong colour if the subject ever came up for some reason.

Just as he was pulling on his new jeans, the knocking Flint had been dreading sounded at his door. Thankfully, he had managed to finish donning everything except his socks and shoes so he opened the door and started to make his way to the small collection of clothes in the wardrobe.

"There's no need for shoes if you don't want to wear any. Most of the others don't wear them around the mansion," mentioned Xavier from his vantage point.

Flint dropped the sock he'd just picked up back into the wardrobe. "Alrighty then, let's go. I could eat a horse, cow and monkey."

Xavier chuckled appreciatively as he led the way. He pointed out various amenities and such on the way to the dining hall. There was quite the ruckus coming from behind the double doors which died a large horrible death as the pair walked and wheeled in. Flint tried really hard not to smirk at the attention. His eyes fell upon Jean's and the grin he was trying to suppress bloomed in full.

The room was large and as expected since the place was a school of sorts, there were about fifty kids of various ages milling about or already seated at one of the six tables. There was a seventh table which appeared to be adults only but Flint was certain that some of them were sitting amongst the kids. Either that or some of the kids were definitely on steroids. Or mutated. Most likely the later considering they were, in fact, mutants.

Xavier wheeled himself to the adult table with Flint still walking confidently in his wake. The end chair was missing and Flint assumed it was the Professor's regular place. The seat facing the hall next to the empty spot was also vacant and Jean was next to it. Flint would have to thank her for saving him a seat. He almost sat in the chair but Jean gently shook her head and Clint realised he was supposed to stand for some sort of introduction. How embarrassing.

Unnecessarily clearing his throat for silence in the already quietened room, Xavier turned to face the room at large. "This, Ladies and Gentlemen, is Flint Robertson. I've known him for quite some time, since he was four actually as I was very close friends with his father before he passed away. His mutation has been giving him some problems and he has come asking for my aid. He does not want to discuss this with anyone at the moment and I do mean anyone. You all know how personal your mutation is and how it can affect you. Do not talk to him about it unless he asks you to. Do I make myself clear?"

There were mutterings of agreement from around the room and three very loud voices chanted, "Yes, Professor Xavier," in a deadpan tone, causing those around them to giggle. Xavier just rolled his eyes but his mouth quirked in amusement.

"Excellent," said Xavier. "Well, don't let me keep you from your lunch."

Immediately, the room descended into chaos. Conversations started up everywhere and Flint didn't need super hearing to know the majority of them were probably about him. Jean's smirk widened and he got the feeling the mutant sat on this particular side of the table to watch him squirm. She knew the keen-eyed ex-Avenger would see every glance in his direction. Bitch.

_You got that right_ said a soft whisper to his mind. It sounded particularly smug.

Flint glared in response but was distracted by the smorgasbord in front of him. Without further ado, he dived upon the salads and cold meats in the centre of the table, making sure that Xavier got whatever he wanted and started to feast. Using the utensils was a little more difficult with the humungous gloves but he survived alright.

When his hunger had abated, Flint finally took a better look around the table. Across from him was a dark skinned woman with silver hair. He'd worked with Storm once before a few years ago and was pretty sure her hairstyle was much longer back then. Next to Storm was a rather alarming looking man with some impressive sideburns. He had a bad feeling about him. There were some others further along but the one that stood out the most was a blonde man with large, feathery wings. They were extremely beautiful and for some inexplicable reason, he longed to touch them. Perhaps it was jealousy. He was Hawkeye after all and he didn't have wings.

A snort brought Flint's attention back to Jean, who must have overheard his assessments. "Anyway, this is Scott Summers, my boyfriend," she said aloud as she gestured to the man sitting on her other side. The man in question was frowning at him and his red sunglasses (inside?) glowed ever so slightly to his keen eyes. She turned to look at her man. "This is Flint Robertson."

"Charles just said that," noted the man coolly.

Jean rolled her eyes. "Fine. Be like that," she snarked before apologetically shrugging her shoulders at Flint. Her eyes narrowed at him and Flint assumed that she'd probably heard him think that her boyfriend was a dickhead. Oh well.

"Greetings," came a smooth voice, startling Flint from his unflattering thoughts about Scott Summers and probably saving him from the redhead's wrath. He turned to look at the chocolate coloured woman opposite him. "My name is Ororo, although I also go by Storm."

"Hi, I'm Flint. How are you going?" he inquired politely.

"I am well. It is a beautiful day today," the woman replied.

"Is that your doing?" asked Flint before realising that Storm hadn't actually told him about her powers yet. Oops.

The woman laughed regardless, a carefree, spirited sound which warmed Clint's heart. It was unlike any of the laughter he'd heard (on occasion) at the tower. "No, it is as Mother Nature intended it. You have already heard of me?" She threw him a piercing look with the almost benign question. She was sharp to be sure.

"Yeah, Uncle Charlie's told me a few stories about his precious X-men," Flint said as he heard Xavier choke on a bite and a loud snort from Jean. He couldn't help it. Teasing was just a part of his nature.

Ororo's eyes sparkled in surprise and amusement. "Uncle Charlie?"

Flint shrugged, "Yeah. I've been calling him that for years now. It's a hard habit to break."

Jean chuckled and leaned over Flint to say to Xavier, "You better make sure Flint stays here for a while. I like him."

"I'll see what I can do," said Xavier dryly.

Flint then gave Ororo a rundown of his new life to date. He was once again reminded how scarily similar the ex-Avenger and the missing boy really were and found the backstory easy to work with.

The mutant then filled him in about how the facility works. "Although you know of the X-men, this place is first and foremost, a school. Every adult here takes two subjects..."

"We don't," interjected a low male voice. Xavier identified the man next to Ororo as Wolverine and Flint could tell the man was a hardened killer. His muscles were almost perpetually alert and his stance showed that he could spring from his seat at a moment's notice. Flint could recognise a kindred soul in the man and met his eyes evenly.

"Yes, well, English is mandatory so I teach everyone..." Storm said with a glare, not noticing that she had interrupted the two men sizing each other up.

"So do I," interrupted Wolverine again, his smirk broadening.

Storm sniffed. "There's a vast difference between marking a large amount of essays and yelling from the side of a racing track that they're moving slower than old ladies."

Wolverine had opened his mouth but Flint interceded. "Not that I don't just love listening to the two of you flirting, I want to know how things work here."

There was an odd, metallic sort of sound and Flint found three rather long blades pointed in his direction. "We weren't flirting," snarled Wolverine. The mutant noticed his raised eyebrow and retracted the claws back into his body, while the woman's expression became inscrutable.

Storm cleared her throat and continued her explanation about the logistics of the Xavier Institute of Higher Learning. "As I was saying, most of the adults teach two subject areas."

Xavier added, "I take social studies and ethics although sometimes I lend Angel a hand with his business students." Flint assumed Angel was the guy with pearly white wings. "He's one of the prestigious Worthington family and I'll grudgingly admit that he has a better concept of business than I do. His other area is art."

Taking back the reins of the conversation, Ororo continued. "Scott takes on the onus of mathematics and occasionally physics with his long-time girlfriend Jean. She also teaches the other sciences. She is a certified doctor after all."

"Really?" asked Flint in surprise. He turned and looked at the woman who was preening with a superior look on her face.

_Yes. I studied at the NYU School of Medicine._ The disembodied voice said in his ear.

Flint chuckled. "I suppose that would come in handy with patching up your teammates."

"That's true," conceded Jean, "and in combination with my telekinesis, I can perform nearly any surgery by myself with extreme precision."

"Telekinesis, huh? Now that would come in handy for so much more than just patching up your teammates," said Flint cheekily, making his lewd meaning clear.

Immediately, he found five forks hovering in front of his face menacingly. His training was the only thing that stopped him from flinching away. If he could have six fingers broken one by one in an Estonian prison, flying silverware was the least of his concerns.

_You will not make such allusions to my personal life in front of my colleagues. Understand me?_ came the snarky command from the redhead.

"Nice trick, want to see one of mine?" Flint asked. Before anyone else moved, he flicked one of the peas on his plate. It ricocheted off two of the forks before hitting Jean square in the middle of her forehead.

Scott rose angrily to his feet as his girlfriend wiped the errant gravy off he brow. She looked torn between being pissed off and amused. Xavier was quietly chortling as Ororo observed the spectacle with unconcealed disbelief. Wolverine was regarding Flint intently and it took all of his nerve not to squirm under the penetrating gaze. He'd have to be especially careful around that one.

"How dare you..." began Summers before a hubbub of noise caught everyone's attention. There was a loud smattering of applause and some cheering from the students as a big, blue, furry mutant strolled casually through the masses to the adult table. Storm was already out of her seat and hugging him, with a delighted, "Hank!"

The pair greeted each other and Flint couldn't help but hear a nearby low growl. Hank's blue eyes fell onto Wolverine and a small smirk slid onto his face. He winked at the surly mutant before his gaze fell upon Flint.

Hank walked up to the table and greeted Charles with a firm handshake, which he then held out to Flint. "Good Afternoon. My name is Doctor Henry McCoy but I will not accept anything other than Hank. How are you faring on this rather auspicious occasion?"

Flint could only thank Tony and Thor for understanding what the hell the blue mutant was prattling on about. Tony would often throw random dictionary-worth words into casual conversation and Thor was well known for his odd phrasing of his sentences. "Hey, Hank. I'm Flint Robertson, although Flint will do nicely and I'm having a wonderful day so far."

Turning his amused expression Xavier's way, the mutant said, "I must admit I was surprised with the urgency of your call and having now seen this old family friend of yours in his rather, er, unorthodox attire I can now wholeheartedly understand the expediency with which you asked me to present myself at your fine institution."

Charles seemed at a loss of what to say so Flint jumped in. "Are you saying you're surprised that Uncle Charlie knows an emo?"

Hank couldn't help but chortle at the title and Xavier's sigh of resignation.

The man in question looked at Flint. "Are you ready for us to make a start?"

Flint looked at the man in confusion and asked, "A start at what?"

Xavier made a noise that was half amusement and half exasperation. "At helping you with your mutation, of course Littleflint."

It was Flint's turn to choke at a name. _Touché_, he thought to himself.

_Indeed_, came an unexpected telepathic response from Charles.

"Sure," chirped Flint as Ororo queried, "Littleflint?"

Xavier smiled. "He used to regularly beg to watch _The Land Before Time_ and his favourite dinosaur was Littlefoot. Littleflint seemed the natural progression to Luke and I."

Wolverine snorted and Flint couldn't tell if it was from amusement or irritation. Or both. The marksman rose to his feet. "Erm, what do I do about the plates and such?" he asked.

"Don't worry about it, Flint," said Jean. "The students have a rotation of chores and cleaning the dining hall is one of them."

"Alrighty then, shall we get cracking?" asked Flint with a smile.

"Absolutely. Forge?" said Xavier with a glance toward the other side of the table.

An older native Indian man with mechanical prosthetics rose from his seat at the table. He seemed incredibly serious and dutifully walked to their side of the table.

Without waiting for anyone, Xavier wheeling away with the three men trailing in his wake. When they had left the eating area, Xavier suggested, "If you prefer, Flint, we could collect your things and sweep them for tracers so they will no longer trouble you."

"Sounds good," said Flint with a bit of relief. It had certainly been on his mind recently. Had the Avengers discovered him missing yet? Was SHILED already searching for him? Could they somehow track him anyway? Had Coulson stopped fucking Cap long enough to realise his asset had fled? He took a brief moment to enjoy the thought that he was the one to break the senior agent's perfect record of no rogue agents. Take that, you fucking prick!

Xavier sent Hank with Flint to collect his things from his bathroom cabinet so he wouldn't get lost. The blue mutant was an interesting conversationalist. He was up with pop culture references which left Cap (that bastard) completely befuddled but was well versed in science, technology and classical literature. He was also a goldmine of random trivial facts and Flint found himself liking the strange furry mutant more by the second. It wasn't until the pair were debating just how similar Jane Austin's _Pride and Prejudice_ was to one of Muse's latest songs that Flint found himself shunted (along with his possessions) into an elevator. It was probably for the best that Xavier had split the foursome up since probably wouldn't have fitted the four of them very comfortably.

When the doors opened, Flint was quite shocked at the change of décor. Gone were the wooden finishes and rich carpeting and instead a futuristic, metallic hallway greeted him. It looked much more impressive than anything he'd ever seen at SHIELD and that was really saying something. Hank ushered him down the hall and into the medical bay on the left. There were bio-beds, scanners and something that looked suspiciously like a cryogenic stasis unit. It made him think of Star Wars at any rate. There was also a host of computer screens spread around the lab. Tony would have wet his pants just being in here before trying to improve the tech.

Xavier and Forge were having an animated discussion about spheres, cylinders and discs but quickly ended their discussion when Hank cleared his throat.

Charles sent the pair a smile and waved them over. Forge had turned back to one of the computer displays and started tapping in earnest. "Flint, these two men are the brains behind the X-men's technology. Between the pair of them, they've designed everything in this basement from the bio-beds to the Blackbird, our stealth jet. I'm absolutely certain they will be able to help you, if you permit it."

"Of course," agreed Flint. He looked at the two men (Forge even looked up from the computer screen) and smiled. "So I don't know how much Charles has told you but I'm not a mutant." Neither man moved so he assumed they already knew. "I'm actually Clint Barton, Hawkeye, of the Avengers." Hank inhaled sharply and Flint felt a rush of relief that Xavier hadn't mentioned him by name in his communication with the doctor. There was no real way to know what communications SHIELD were monitoring.

Xavier rolled his eyes. "Naturally," he said with a touch of exasperation. "As you once said, 'it isn't my first rodeo' and I'm well aware of how invasive SHIELD can be."

"Oh," noted Flint somewhat sheepishly. "Anyway, Charles has graciously consented to hiding me here for a bit. Our problem is that I'm merely human."

Hank snorted. "I highly doubt someone with your extensive skills could ever really label themselves as 'merely human'."

Flint took the praise for what it was with a smile.

"Anyway," interrupted Forge, speaking to Flint for the first time. "This is what I was thinking of." He pointed to the computer terminal he had been using and tapped a few buttons. The lines of text vanished and a three dimensional display of one of the gloves popped up. Between the two layers of fabric of the glove was a vast array of micro-machines all jammed in together which fit around an exoskeleton. Apparently, the exoskeleton would attach itself directly to the fingers of the user.

Hank was already talking in technobabble with Forge as Flint examined the apparatus' specs. There was a release button on the inside of the glove, which would cause the chassis to unfold, allowing him to get his hand in and out freely but there was also a locking mechanism which would ensure the glove could not be removed.

When a lull had appeared in the inventor's conversation, Flint said, "This is amazing! How did you come up with this stuff so fast, Forge?"

The Indian man chuckled. "It's my mutant power. I can understand and build any machine. A strange gift to be sure, but mighty useful in certain circumstances."

Flint's eyes widened. "Oh my God, watch out for Stark. If he ever found out about you, he'd abduct you, tie you to a chair and dissect your brain."

Forge's deadpan expression settled back onto his face. "Actually, that almost happened once, just not with Iron Man and with a lot more torture."

"I'm so sorry," apologised Flint with a horrified look on his face. "I always say stupid stuff before I think. I didn't mean to..."

"Don't worry about it," Forge waved away as he made some more adjustments to the glove. "Hank, what do you think about..." and the inventors digressed back into words that Flint had absolutely no chance of understanding. Ever. He almost jumped out of his skin when a hand landed on his left forearm.

"Flint," said Xavier with the most serious tone he'd hear from the paraplegic. "Can I have a word?"

Flint nodded but couldn't help but feel slight apprehension. Was he going to be kicked out for some reason? Had he done something wrong? Flicking that pea at Jean's head, making fun of Wolverine's blatant flirting, calling the man Uncle Charlie? Was it one of those things? Did he unintentionally stray over some forbidden line? He didn't want to be left to fend for himself after feeling like he might just belong somewhere for the first time in his life. _Please oh please, let me be allowed to stay._


	5. Acquiring to X-cess

**A to X**

_Chapter Five - Acquiring to X-cess_

Charles led the man to the other side of the room. "Flint, I apologise for not consulting you about revealing your personal information to Forge."

Shaking his head with partial relief and exasperation, the ex-Avenger smiled. "Don't worry about it Charles. How could he have been expected to create some mutant powers without an adequate reason to do so?"

"Even still, I apologise," said Xavier earnestly.

Flint shrugged. "Thanks but I trust you. For some reason, I feel you already have my best interests at heart." How was it that he already seemed to trust Xavier more than nearly everyone else? (Natasha would always have his implicit trust, Coulson? Not so much anymore.) He thought briefly about telepathic manipulation before chastising himself for his ridiculousness. Especially since the mutant seemed to know everything he thought.

"That was also another thing I was hoping to bring up," said Xavier calmly, seemingly not bothered that Flint had thought he'd been psychically influenced. "Yes, I did overhear that and it's something that I get the displeasure of picking up often. I have become somewhat immune to thoughts like that one. Anyway, I think it's in everyone's best interests if you receive mental coaching from either myself or Jean. That way your thoughts will remain your own."

"I like that idea," agreed Flint immediately. "Would I be able to work with you though? As nice as Jean seems, I already trust you."

Xavier smiled at him. "Of course. I wouldn't have offered otherwise."

The pair's discussion turned to more casual topics and Charles helped him scan both his possessions and himself. There was a small tracer in one of his firearms but after a quick examination, it proved to be inactive. Now that he would soon get these power gloves, Flint agreed with Xavier that he didn't really need the guns anymore and they destroyed all of them (instead of just the bugged one) in the lab's particle incinerator. Apparently, it was used to dispose of any used medical materials that contained traces of their mutant DNA. The archer tried not to dwell on exactly how easy it would be to use it to dispose of a body without a trace.

"Charles, Flint," called out Hank, saving Flint from getting chastised by Xavier, who had overheard the macabre thoughts and had opened his mouth with a frown. The two moved to join the other pair. "I believe we've ironed out the kinks."

Forge tapped a few buttons and the image of the glove moved. The mechanical parts inside moved in accordance and one of them looked like it had stabbed a weird circle looking thingy near the wrist. The circle changed to a sickly green colour before being flicked out of the glove through a concealed slit and into the fingers of the hand.

"I see you decided to go with discs instead of spheres," noted Xavier as he watched the animation with keen interest.

"Yes," acknowledged Forge. "So much more storage space available that way. It may take some getting used to but I think it'll do nicely.

"Our first concern was ensuring the discs could be moved quickly out of the glove," said Hank. "The last thing we wanted was for the acid or liquid nitrogen or whatever else to accidentally get lodged inside the glove. For obvious reasons."

Flint just looked at the blue mutant in horror who just shrugged unrepentantly in return.

Forge took over the commentary. "We also wanted to come up with a way to adjust the intensity of the chosen additive. For example, if Flint wanted to light a candle with the smallest of flames, he could. By injecting more of the additive, he could adjust the disc to explode into a large fireball."

"It took some doing," added Hank, "but we managed to come up with a synthetic plastic which will completely disintegrate almost immediately after cracking and exposing the additive to the atmosphere. The tricky part was determining a way for the gloves to hold the disc without breaking it prematurely."

"We managed to lace the material with another type of plastic polymer which will not interfere, well, in our simulations at any rate. It will require thorough testing first but we think we've covered all bases." finished Forge with a rare smile.

It was eerie to Flint just how easily the two mutants were able to think as one. It sort of reminded him of Fitz-Simmons, a couple of scientists he'd once met at SHIELD HQ.

"Excellent work, gentlemen. How long do you think it will take to construct the gloves for Flint?" asked Xavier as he steepled his fingers below his chin.

"I can have them ready by tomorrow afternoon, Charles. The evening at the latest," said Forge with a confident nod.

"I'd love to stay and help but I have a several meetings tomorrow morning including one with the President which I simply cannot miss," apologised Beast. He looked seriously disappointed that he was not going to be able to finish the project with Forge.

Xavier waved it away. "Don't be, Hank. I'm just thrilled you were able to stop by and help out on such short notice."

"Charles," admonished Hank with a smile. "You know I will help in any way I can."

"Why don't you give them a thorough examination the next time you're available?" suggested Flint somewhat awkwardly. He still had no idea how he was supposed to act around so many people in an already structured unit. Hopefully, he wasn't stepping over some sort of line.

The blue mutant nodded enthusiastically in the ex-Avenger's direction. "I most assuredly will, Flint." The man walked over and clapped him on the shoulder. "Although I do not know the circumstances through which you came to be here, Flint, I do know two things. First, whatever caused you to leave your team permanently must have been, at the very least, extremely traumatic. Secondly, despite that, if Charles has deemed you worthy enough to live here, that is enough to satisfy me with your intentions. It will be challenging for you to adjust from the mantle of an Avenger, adored by the public, to a mutant, who many believe to be the scourge of the planet. If you ever find yourself in need of any assistance whatsoever, I am but a call away."

Flint couldn't help but feel a complete surge of affection for the mutant he'd only just met. What was it about these people? How can they offer support to a stranger like there was nothing to it? He could almost feel the tears welling in his eyes and refusing to give in to them, he instead launched in for a hug which was immediately reciprocated firmly. What was wrong with him? He'd never been one for physical affection before. His family hadn't been very tactile, the circus-folk had kept mostly to themselves and SHIELD certainly wasn't a familial environment. Yet here, casual touches seemed to be almost commonplace and strangely acceptable. It was both unnerving and for some reason, seemed to give him an odd feeling of hope.

When Flint reluctantly pulled himself out of the impromptu embrace (which had been very warm and inviting) he bashfully smiled at the blue mutant. "Er, thanks Hank. I will."

The mutant winked at him in a friendly fashion, said goodbye to the other men and swept from the room.

Charles looked at his watch and exclaimed in surprise that they'd been in the lab for almost three hours. "It's almost time for dinner!" he added.

"Don't wait up for me, Xavier, I've got work to do," shrugged Forge before turning his attention back to the screen in front of him. He once again reminded Flint of Tony and he momentarily wondered if he had any robot minions running around somewhere before deciding the serious mutant didn't seem like the kind of guy to make things for fun.

Xavier and Flint made their way back to the elevator.

"I think I might skip dinner and settle in instead," decided Flint as they waited in the carriage.

"That might be for the best, we don't want you all worn out in just one day," acknowledged Xavier with a smile.

When the elevator came to a stop, Xavier wheeled himself in the direction of the dining hall.

"'night Uncle Charlie," hollered Flint cheerfully as he reached the doorway to the dorms.

Without turning around, Xavier replied, "Goodnight to you too, Littleflint." Although Flint couldn't see it, the smirk was clearly evident in the Professor's tone.

Flint woke early the next morning and was ravenous. Maybe he shouldn't have missed dinner last night but he'd been so exhausted. He stretched in his bed and realised he'd hardly thought about Coulson, Cap or the other Avengers much at all the day before. He'd been far too busy and now felt strangely guilty about it.

Slipping into the shower, Flint noticed he didn't really know where the laundry area of the mansion was and he'd have to find out fast since he was donning the last of his gifted clothes. Perhaps a shopping spree was called for. Now that his hair was permanently dyed and he was stuck wearing those chunky gloves, it took much less time to make himself presentable. Well, as presentable as an emo could be. Just mascara, eyeliner and lipstick to worry about.

Breakfast time!

Flint felt like a dam had broken. Maybe he was trying to make up for the day before but he spent the entire trip to the dining hall moping over the Coulson/Cap situation. The man took a wrong turn somewhere but found his way eventually. He looked around in surprise. The room was almost comically empty. There was a small group of three sitting at one of the student tables, although he recognised one of them as Jean's douche of a boyfriend.

Flint helped himself to the breakfast bar on the side, taking a large serving of scrambled eggs (way better than the shit at SHIELD HQ) and the largest mug of coffee he could find. He folded himself into a seat at the table and greeted the others with a quiet but cheerful, "Morning."

Scott Summers nodded tersely in acknowledgement before turning his attention back onto his bowl of cereal. One of the students (a tiny little thing with bright pink hair and wings) blushed and squeaked out, "Hi!" before trying to hide her face behind her half-eaten slice of toast.

The other inhabitant, an Asian girl with ludicrous pink sunglasses perched precariously on her head, waved her fork excitedly with bits of egg soaring through the air. She quickly tried to scarf the mouthful she was chewing on and when she finally succeeded (while unconcernedly ignoring a disapproving glare from Scott) she slammed her fork down hard and threw out her hand for an extremely firm handshake. "Hey, I'm Jubilee and I love your arms. I mean seriously, they look like they fell straight out of a Men's Health magazine. Either that or a porno. Can I grope them a bit?" Her hands itched forward and she squealed with glee when Flint didn't move away fast enough.

"JUBILEE!" chastised Scott, appalled at the girl's behaviour. She ignored him.

Despite his best intentions, Flint couldn't help but laugh at the brazen attack from the teen. "Jubilee huh? Where did that one come from?"

The girl rolled her eyes. "My parents. I mean seriously, who names their kid Jubilation anyway? It's sadistic."

"So that's a nickname, not a mutant name?" asked Flint curiously. Xavier had been explaining the concept to him yesterday while Hank and Forge were brainstorming together.

Sighing the girl said, "It's both. My full name is Jubilation Lee and I make fireworks." She shot a few small paffs at the ex-Avenger, lighting the vicinity up in hues of blue and green.

Flint felt his mouth fall open. "That is so awesome!" he virtually squealed causing Jubilee to smirk and Scott's frown to deepen. It was only now that he realised the smaller girl had somehow left the table without him even noticing. So much for Hawkeye.

"So what do you do, er, what was your name again Biceps?" Jubilee asked before smacking herself in the forehead. "Wait, I forgot. Your powers are glitchy and off limits for conversation. My bad. Your name though?"

"Flint." Wait. Since he would be getting fake-powers, does that mean he'll need a fake-mutant name? That was certainly something for him to think about later.

"Mutant name?" the firecracker asked blatantly flaunting the fine line between following Xavier's request and trying to get some noteworthy gossip.

"It's a new concept for me. I don't have one yet," shrugged Flint. He shovelled another heaped spoonful of eggs into his mouth.

"I still vote Biceps. They're almost as large as Peter's except he's built like a fucking bull and you're not," decided Jubilee.

Scott sputtered and eventually started reprimanding the girl for her language when he eventually remembered how to speak.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever Redeye," she said with an exaggerated yawn. Turning her eyes on Flint, she asked, "So what are you gonna get up to today?"

"I don't really have much in the way of luggage, so I was going to hit up the mall that Uncle Charlie told me about yesterday."

Jubilee started giggling while Scott began choking. Eventually Scott turned a withering glare on Flint. "Charlie? He actually lets you call him that? He hates that name." It was the first time the man had spoken directly to him. His disdainful tone seemed to validate Flint's immediate dislike of the man. What an asshole.

"Really?" asked Flint with genuine surprise. The disabled man hadn't seemed to mind the title. He'd have to ask him about it the next time they were chatting.

"Ignore him. That's what I always do," interjected Jubilee with a smirk. "Need company for your journey to the mall? My friends and I would love to come along. No one can show you around that place like we can."

"Jubilee," sighed Scott, "I don't think Robertson would want..."

Flint cut the other man off. "Sounds like fun but remember, I'm there to shop. If you or your friends get on my nerves, I'll ditch you. How many of you are there anyway?"

Squealing in delight, Jubilee started counting on her fingers as Summers sent yet another glare Flint's way. Dick. "Maybe seven if they all want to go. I'll check!" and before Flint could respond, she was gone leaving a very uncomfortable atmosphere in her wake.

"Look," said Scott harshly, since they were now alone. "I don't know what game you're playing but I've known Xavier a very, very long time. He's like a father to me and he's never mentioned you or this Luke character before. Just know that I'll be keeping an eye on you."

Flint didn't deign the threat with a response. He'd faced torture in remote Syria by political extremists and interrogations from Baron Von Strucker himself. This little chat was nothing. He just finished his breakfast wordlessly and made his way to Xavier's office.

Charles looked up from his desk with a smile. "Good morning, Flint. How are you today?"

Grinning in return, Flint said, "Great, and yourself?"

"Excellent. What brings you to my office this early on a Saturday?" he asked.

"So that's why the dining hall was so empty!" blurted out Flint to his immediate embarrassment. "Anyway, I mentioned to Jubilee that I was going to head to the mall..."

"And she invited herself along." finished Charles, his eyes sparkling.

"Yeah, and her friends too. I was wondering if there might be a car of some sort I can borrow, if that's okay?" the archer inquired.

Xavier opened the drawer of his desk and extracted two sets of keys. He handed them over but warned, "They're good kids, well mostly adults now I suppose but they can be, er, exuberant."

"Fair enough." Flint wondered whether he could really handle it or not. They'd probably make him feel ancient.

"Just remember, you don't have a driver's licence yet, Littleflint," noted the bald man.

"Oh yeah, speaking of that, Summers was telling me that you don't let anyone call you Charlie. Should I stop doing that?" Flint looked on with a little worry. He didn't want to upset the balance of the X-mansion.

Xavier rolled his eyes. "As much as I'm not overly fond of the name, it's a little late to change it now." The archer's gut clenched. Shit. "But, it's beginning to grow on me so don't trouble yourself."

Flint couldn't help breathing out in relief. "Thanks, I was a little worried," he admitted.

"Yes, I heard," noted the telepath, "and on that note, can you drop by here at three this afternoon? I want to get started on your telepathic shields as soon as possible. I'm sure you'll want all of your thoughts private as soon as possible, correct?"

"Yes please!" cheered Flint.

Xavier's eyes drifted to the upper right corner of the room before moving back to the archer's face. "Jubilee and the rest of her friends are on their way, they'll meet you at the front entrance. I'd offer to help subsidise your purchases but I know you'll refuse. Feel free to get any large acquisitions delivered directly to the mansion. Go, have some fun and I'll see you at three."

"Thanks Charlie," said Flint before bouncing on the spot for a moment. Deciding to chance it, he ducked around the desk and gave the man a quick hug before disappearing out the door. It was rare that he actually wanted to initiate physical contact so when he did, he'd usually just go for it.

The front door of the mansion was left wide open with a group of mutants congregating just outside. They were chatting freely and enjoying the scenery of the front grounds.

"So, what's the game plan?" asked Flint.

Two of the girls (but not Jubilee) shrieked in surprise, one of which seemed to make his ears ring very uncomfortably. It didn't sound very humanish. One of the boys actually tripped over as he turned around too fast for his body. Flint smirked internally.

Naturally, it was Jubilee who filled the lull. "Shit dude, are you some sort of ninja or something?"

Usually Flint would have answered about being an assassin instead but that wasn't the best way to maintain his cover. Instead he went with, "Do I really look that Japanese?" He raised an eyebrow.

Jubilee shrugged, "Well if Tom Cruise can somehow get away with playing a damn samurai..."

Flint couldn't help but laugh. She was definitely quick on the uptake.

"Shall we go?" asked a guy who looked to be in his very late teens or possibly early twenties. He was extremely well built. It concerned Flint that there was someone who was almost as well-muscled as Thor. At least he was a mutant and not just a regular human. That would have been much more depressing.

"Yeah," agreed Jubilee. "Professor X said you'd have the keys. Intros can wait until later. Anyways, there's no better way to meet people than when you're trapped in a metal container, screaming down the road at barely legal speeds." She made grabby hands as she spoke and Flint slipped her the keys. She tossed one set to the muscleman (who easily caught them) and the group ambled to the extremely large garage. He would have been impressed if he hadn't already seen Stark's extensive automotive collection.

Soon Flint was cruising down the highway in a blue car full of guys. The muscleman's name was Peter and was an excellent driver. Despite managing to keep up with Jubilee and her rather uncontrolled driving skills, Flint had felt safe the entire time; a feeling he wasn't used to in a passenger situation. The other front seat was filled by a boy who was almost seventeen called Jimmy. He was pretty quiet and let the guy on the archer's left (Bobby) fill the almost but not yet awkward silence.

Bobby reminded Flint of Cap in some ways, mostly due to his earnestness. Normally a comparison like that would be a compliment but the leader of the Avengers wasn't really one of his favourite people at the moment. Hopefully this younger version would be more reliable.

It was a short drive to the mall and the group entered the building en masse.

Jubilee ("Just call me Jubes for short, Biceps") led the way and sighed contentedly. She looked at Flint with a smile. "I used to live in one of these, you know."

Raising an eyebrow, Flint couldn't contain his surprise. "Really?"

"Yeah although me and mall security, we didn't really get on that well," she said.

"Like that's a surprise," muttered the girl who'd been introduced as Rogue.

Jubes just sent her an almost feral grin and clapped her hands. "Alrighty, let's kick this show in the balls. Those of you who just want to hang out while we hit the clothes stores, leave now before it's too late."

Jimmy slinked off with Theresa and Peter. This left Rogue, Bobby, Kitty and of course Jubes in the shopping committee. They went through virtually every clothing store (even if there weren't any male clothes in them) and although the journey was long and extremely expensive, the constant chatter of the other three distracted Flint well enough. They were also quite useful for helping to carry his many purchases despite the girls practically forcing him to try on singlet after singlet to perve on his arms. He enjoyed the fact that at least some people out there found him attractive even though Coulson did not. It also made trying on clothes easier with his massive chunky gloves and let's face it, he rarely wore sleeves in the first place.

The agent seemed to crop up in Flint's thoughts quite a bit during the shopping extravaganza because Kitty and Bobby appeared to be a very new couple and couldn't keep their hands off one another. It was probably the only reason the guy had joined them in the first place, not wanting to be parted from his girlfriend. He and Coulson had never really gone through a stage like that. It was more fuck and leave. Maybe the agent noticed his reluctance to go when they were done or perhaps he felt the lingering touches Flint couldn't help. If he had kept his hands to himself, just maybe... No. That wasn't the type of relationship he wanted. He yearned to have someone he trusted holding him tight each night, not someone who would kick him to the curb when they were done with him.

Jubilee seemed to notice his lagging mood and the apparent source of his thoughts. "Oi, limpets. Halt the PDA already. You're gonna make me barf." She made some overly exaggerated retching noises and the couple guiltily split apart. Bobby moodily scuffed the ground as Kitty glanced around, ears pink with embarrassment.

Checking her phone, Jubes was startled when she realised that nearly three hours had already elapsed. "Food, now!" she demanded, leading them to the food court while simultaneously texting the others to meet there.

Flint indulged in Arby's for once, since he never really had access to it in the tower. For some reason, Stark disapproved of fast food unless it was from another country like Thai, Chinese, Indian or Mexican. "If I wanted a damn sandwich, Barton, I'd get JARVIS to make me one," was the usual response to his suggestion.

Wolfing down his turkey sandwich, he let the conversation flow around him. Jimmy had bought a few CDs and Theresa was fangirling over the latest Catwoman comic she'd just purchased and had already read about seventeen times. Peter had spent his time shopping for a gift for his sister but was yet to find something he thought was worthy. The only other not to speak was Rogue, since Jubes and Bobby never shut up. It was such a shame because the few times he'd heard her accent, he'd found it charming.

Now fed and watered, the eight shoppers headed back to the cars and made their way back to the mansion. As they were in the car, Flint estimated he'd spent about two and a half thousand dollars on his new wardrobe. He was a little saddened that the majority of it was black but it was necessary to maintain his cover. When he did buy colours, it was mostly red with a dash of pink. As much as he wanted to get purple, he knew it would make connecting him to Hawkeye too easy, so he slipped one pair of purple boxer briefs in and that would have to do.

The students helped him carry his purchases up to his room and plonked them all on his bed. They cheerfully wished him goodbye and went about their day. Jubes gave him a quick, friendly hug and a genuine smile before leaving to catch up with her friends. "Don't worry," she called from somewhere down the hallway, "I'll get the keys back to the Prof-man! See ya later, Flinty."

Wow. Two and a half grand gone. Just like that.


	6. Astral X-cursions

Heya. A small disclaimer I missed in chapter one. I only speak English (of the Aussie variety) so please blame google translate for inconsistencies. Any corrections are most welcome if Russian is your thing. :-)

* * *

**A to X**

_Chapter Six - Astral X-cursions_

Flint managed to put the majority of his new clothes neatly into the wardrobe before he heard a voice not with his ears but with his mind.

_It's a quarter after three, Flint. Can I expect to see you soon?_

Flint looked at his new watch. Shit. He was very late. About to yell, he realised Xavier wouldn't be able to hear him unless... Maybe if he thought it loudly enough, the man just might. _ER SORRY, I LOST TRACK OF THE TIME. I'LL BE DOWN IN A MOMENT._

The archer could hear the amusement in the man's reply. _Excellent, although there's no need to shout._

_FUCK, I MEAN, ER, SORRY_. Flint dropped the shirt he was holding onto the bed and all but ran to the bald man's office.

Xavier smiled as he gestured to one of the two seats opposite his desk. Flint sheepishly took a seat feeling every little bit like a schoolboy in trouble from the principal. Not that he really knew how that felt since, yeah, circus.

"It will be easier for you, Flint, if we are in physical contact with each other," began the professor. He extended his hands, palm up, over his desk.

Flint removed his gloves and carefully laid his hands on top of Xavier's.

"Now, I think you'll get a better sense of what you might wish to achieve if you see my shields yourself." Xavier kept his eyes fastened on Flint's.

Feeling his confusion show in his expression, Flint asked, "Er, how?"

"It is well within my power to make a small connection between our minds. It will not be anything like what you described yesterday between Loki and yourself," soothed the bald man, having no doubt felt the tensing of Flint's hands. "I will in no way coerce you to do anything."

"I, I don't know if I can," said Flint quietly, looking down at their joined hands.

Charles nodded. "I understand, yet it will be infinitely more difficult to help you through the process without it and your shields will be much weaker." After a pause he added, "And remember, the stronger your shields are, the more likely you would be able to repel anyone else from entering and controlling your mind."

Flint weighed the pros and cons silently for a while. Although he hated to admit it, allowing someone he already trusted in to his mind to help prevent others from gaining entry seemed the most prudent course of action. "Alright."

"Close your eyes, Flint," instructed Xavier. _Feel the connection of our hands. Listen to the sound of my voice. Try to follow it through that joining._

Flint tried to follow the instructions to the best of his ability but found he couldn't really comprehend what was required of him. He tried several times to make the connection but botched it every time. Starting to get frustrated, he tried to conceal his annoyance but failed dismally.

_How about we try going about this a different way, hmm? _suggested Xavier. _What is your greatest strength?_

"My sight," answered Flint.

_I don't believe that to be true, however I want you to tell me that strength with your mind._

Flint's eyes were still closed and he tried to think of a different quality of his. _WELL I SUPPOSE I NEVER MISS MY TARGET._

_Say it again but at a whisper._ Xavier's voice was calm, yet firm.

_I never miss my target _repeated Flint.

_Good, that was much better_ complimented Xavier.

_Yeah! I'm getting better at this stuff_ thought Flint to himself.

A pealing laugh rippled through Flint's mind. _You are but I have a feeling you didn't want me to hear that._

_Shit! Er, how do I stop it?_

_Listen to my voice. I'm going to start getting softer and softer._ Xavier's telepathic speech did get progressively quieter._ Soon you'll have to strain to hear me. Try to follow the words if you can. Can you follow them, Flint? Or will they escape you?_

Flint homed in on the words. Despite his eyes being closed, he could sort of see a light getting closer to him. It made no sense since he wasn't moving anywhere.

_Good, you're following extremely well._

The closer he got to the light, the clearer it became. It was a bluish colour and it suddenly sharpened into the form of Xavier. He was standing on his feet with a wide smile on his face. He looked real and yet not solid at the same time. Sort of like a ghost. It was rather disconcerting.

_Welcome_ said the professor's form _to the astral plane. This is where my powers truly exist. It is a reality which sits within our physical realm but exists on a different metaphorical level._

Flint looked down at himself, seeing that he was also made up of the strange light, except his was purple. _Wait, so where's my body?_

_It's still next to mine, safely in my office. Do not be concerned._

Felling himself relax a little at the reassurance, Flint looked at the absence of anything around him. _Okay. It's a bit roomy here. Isn't it?_

Xavier chuckled and Flint could not only hear it but feel it too. It was strange. _It is impossible for non-psychics to enter the astral plane unaided. You one of a very select crowd to have seen this realm. Now, to protect your mind, you first have to know your mind. Look behind you._

Flint turned and saw a small red globe. It pulsed with electricity on the inside and reminded him of a plasma globe. _That's my mind?_ _It looks pretty neat._ He realised that every time he 'spoke,' the orb would pulse with sparkling scarlet light. After amusing himself by thinking random thoughts just to see the globe illuminate, he turned his attention back to Xavier. _That sphere thingy looks a hell of a lot less bloody than the usual brains I've seen splattered about._

Xavier's disapproval was felt strongly by the archer but otherwise he chose to ignore the comment. _As you can see, it lights up very nicely, doesn't it?_

_Yeah it does!_ announced Flint proudly.

_And that's why psychics are drawn to your mind_ said Xavier with a smirk._ It's just like an open flame drawing in a moth. _

Flint's mouth fell open. _Well that sucks._

With a chuckle, Xavier agreed. _Now turn around and take a look at mine._

Flint spun where he stood and gasped. Behind Xavier's blue form was a ghostly blue version of the mansion's grounds. Trees, paths, benches and even the fountain were perfectly positioned. Sitting placidly in the centre of the fountain's continuous spray was Xavier's small globe. Unlike Flint's, his was a dull dark red colour. _Why is yours maroon? _he asked.

_I've trained myself to keep my thoughts buried deep. Yours are on the surface. Hence the red. Now these pebbles,_ said Xavier as he gestured to a ghostly bucket of small round rocks at their feet, _are my mental bolts._

_You're shitting me!_ sniggered Flint.

_No, I'm not. Believe it or not, this is how I've chosen to represent them. Jean, she prefers to throw knives and I once met an unpleasant man who would hurl lightning bolts. I prefer the simple stones for that exact reason. They're simple. The less I need to think about my weapon, the more time and brainpower I can devote to defeating my adversary_ lectured the professor._ Here. Take one._

Flint selected one out of the bucket and held it carefully in his palm. It was virtually weightless.

_If you were to throw this and strike my globe, it would render me unconscious _said Xavier casually. _I've heard you have unerring aim. Prove it. Hit my sphere._

Flint could tell there was some sort of trick at work but he didn't know what. _If you say so_ he thought as he threw the rock (mind bolt) and naturally hit the globe with ease. It popped like a bubble and a loud klaxon sounded with flashing red lights. Out of the ground popped many missile launchers and machine guns. They fired immediately and just as the missiles were about to hit them, Xavier waved his hand and vanished them. The scene returned to its previous image and Flint couldn't help but sigh with relief.

_Sorry, I couldn't resist_ sniggered Charles. He smirked at the archer. _Everyone else's shields look different and so will yours in time. I want you to think about where you feel safe. It can be a real place or imaginary. I just want you to consider where you might stow your most precious possession. For now, just think of sitting at my desk and find your way home._

Without further ado, Xavier popped out of existence leaving Flint by himself. He freaked out for a moment since the astral plane wasn't exactly a picturesque place but the instant he thought about Xavier's office, he found himself blearily blinking in his body once more. That was freaky. He blinked and frowned before the world turned black.

Flint jerked into wakefulness discordantly. His body still felt drained but he knew immediately from experience that it had nothing to do with drugs; more like exhaustion. It took a few moments for him to remember his session with Charles and he only worked it out because he was still there, lying on the man's tasteful office couch. His psychic journey must have been what had worn him out so completely. It was twelve after three in the morning according to his new watch. How sucktacular.

Stretching out his back, Flint meandered back to his room (after re-donning those damnable gloves) and prepared for the day ahead since he doubted he'd be able to get back to sleep. While he showered he thought back to Xavier's mental defence. It made sense that the man would feel safest in his own home. Only he knew the particulars of the opulent abode and would know all of its hiding places. He definitely approved of the decoy idea. Very sneaky indeed. If an intruder did manage to survive the death-trap, they would still be stuck looking for the real mind/globe. He was also sure that disturbing the decoy would most likely alert Xavier to the intrusion and whoever was foolish enough to attack him would quickly become the prey in a place where the bald man had home court advantage.

Flint dried himself off and his stomach growled with hunger. Yes, it was definitely breakfast time since he'd now missed two dinners in a row. Tasha would have slapped him around the head by now if she were here. As it was so early in the morning, the dining hall was predictably closed. It took a bit of searching but the ex-Avenger found the nearby kitchen and raided the freezer. Ice cream for breakfast? Why not?

Flint was happily munching on his vanilla ice cream topped with a ridiculous amount of chocolate chips when he felt a presence behind him. It was human instinct to freeze on the spot. He'd seen it many times through his rifle scope in the age of pre-Coulson. The target would stop completely. Sometimes for a while, looking and listening for danger. Others paused momentarily before adopting a nonchalant attitude to try to trick the threat. Years of training were the only thing that stopped him from doing the same. He'd survived quite a few assassination attempts by remaining steadfastly in motion. The only part of his body that betrayed his awareness were his eyes which thankfully the other couldn't see from behind.

Luckily the gleaming steel refrigerator provided Flint a vague reflection to work with. The other was unquestionably male since a woman wouldn't be wondering the halls shirtless. He was also quite tall. Much taller than him. The figure extended an arm and the ex-Avenger's training took over, protecting him as it always did.

Flint immediately dropped the bowl and spoon onto the bench he was standing by. He caught the extended wrist sightlessly behind him with his right hand and used the strong arm like a pummel horse to flip over the man. Bringing his left arm up, he placed the man in a chokehold and pushed him forward into the bench he'd been leaning against. He unerringly retrieved the spoon and pressed the edge of it into the nape of the man's well-muscled neck.

To Flint's surprise, the man didn't struggle like most others in his situation would but his skin colour turned silverish. He also seemed to grow a little in size. The spoon clanked against his skin metallically and Flint realised that despite his superior positioning advantage, he was probably about to get the shit kicked out of him.

One metallic hand gripped his chokehold arm roughly and Flint found his limb firmly trapped. He knew what would be coming next and was pissed off that there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop it. The man's/monster's other hand reached over him and gripped him by the back of his neck. He found the world swimming around him as he was hurled over the statuesque man into the refrigerator. Ow. When the room stopped spinning, he finally got a look at his assailant. The silverish man was awkwardly scratching his head.

"Flint! _К __сожалению__!_ (_Sorry!_)" he said and it was then that Flint recognised his voice. It was Peter. The man reverted back to his usual skin tone and hauled the still slightly disorientated archer to his feet.

"Huh?" mumbled Flint as he blinked his eyes, willing them to focus with their usual sharpness. At least he still had enough wits to keep the fact that he was more than fluent in Russian to himself. His grasp of the language had been sketchy before he brought Natasha in to SHIELD. After a few missions, she got too fed up with his lazy pronunciation and would smack him around the head whenever he screwed something up. She'd then force him to say it correctly nine more times. Apparently odd numbers are considered luckier than even ones in Russia. He was just happy she didn't go for fifteen, twenty-seven or ninety-nine.

Peter blanched and started muttering his apologies in English this time which Flint waved away.

The cobwebs finally seemed to have been swept away from the ex-Avenger's mind. Since it seemed like he was no longer in imminent danger, Flint retrieved the now-melted remains of his ice-cream as he listened to Peter bumble around the kitchen, still repeatedly apologising.

"Look, Peter, you're sorry. I get it. So just drink your coke already." The Russian opened his mouth but Flint cautioned, "If you're going to apologise for apologising, I'm going to hit you."

The man sheepishly grinned as he sipped from the can he'd extracted from the fridge. "Those were some impressive moves," noted the Russian thoughtfully.

"Yeah, my foster family taught me a few things," noted Flint airily. The diversionary tactic worked well and the other man took the bait.

"You grew up in the system? That must have been tough," Peter sympathised as the Avenger rinsed his now empty bowl out in the sink and carefully set it down on the drying rack.

Flint shrugged, still facing the wall. "It's not like I had a choice. Mom died giving birth to me and my asshole of a father OD'd. Shit happens." Well that was a conversation killer if ever there was one.

Peter looked thoughtfully in the other's eyes when he eventually turned back around. "Things got better?"

"I'm not really sure," said Flint somewhat to himself. "I thought they did. I found myself a great family and even met the love of my life. Turns out it was one sided and was dropped for a good friend of mine. Then this happened," he added as he held up his arms and started wiggling his fingers, thankful he'd remembered his cover story of an out of control mutant.

Peter just shrugged at the man. "You'll be alright. You're strong," he announced with a firm hand thumped onto his shoulder.

Tears came unbidden to Flint's eyes but he refused to let them fall. It was exactly what Tasha would have said and done. Why wasn't she here? He needed her so much. Before his thoughts could run away from him, the man unexpectedly found himself in yet another mutant embrace. He thankfully supressed the shiver that wanted to run down his spine at the half-naked, drool-worthy mutant's warmth.

"Erm, anyway," said Flint as he slid from the firm grasp. "I gotta jet. Thanks for, you know, not killing me with your bare silverish hands. See you later, Peter."

"Bye, Flint," the Russian replied with a small smile before the guy turned his attention back to the fridge, this time searching for food.

Flint headed back to his room and sat down to make a list of everything else he still needed to purchase. The first items he input into his phone were some paper and stationery. Typing everything into his phone was going to seriously irritate him. He added other things like photo frames, a couple of cushions, maybe a vase or two and a real coffee percolator (since he'd been spoiled by Stark's special blends for the last few years) with some good quality beans. He then added vodka and beer to his list too, along with a bar fridge, shot glasses and tumblers. Natasha would hunt him down and kill him if he even considered drinking out of anything less. Damn, he needed some ice cube trays too. Man kitting out his new room was going to take some doing.

Talking with Peter and hearing his small slip into his native tongue was a little nostalgic for the ex-Avenger. He'd been missing his best friend and confidante a little bit more each day. It had been a couple of days since he'd left and the espionage expert had probably re-joined the Avengers by now. He was certain that with just one look, she would know that he'd run away. Chances were that she'd take his disappearance into her own hands and hunt him down. He'd call to placate her but then she'd be forced to inform SHIELD. Well, that's if her phone wasn't already tapped and they knew before she'd even reported it. They really had no concept of personal boundaries, those bastards.

Flint wasn't really sure how long it would take the others to discern that he'd left (since Natasha wouldn't let them know - probably) but assumed it would be Stark who would eventually put the pieces together. Between Stark and SHIELD he'd have to avoid technology for, well, forever.

Later on, when it was a much more reasonable hour, Flint was psychically summoned back to Xavier's office. _So, have you thought about what we discussed last time? _inquired Xavier psychically.

_Yeah. A bit but I'm still unsure about what exactly I'll do_ answered Flint. He was just pleased the mutant didn't bring up his loss of consciousness from the day before.

_That's fair enough. I would like to point out that you're no longer shouting at me, so you're definitely making good progress_.

Flint smiled at the man. It was rare that he was ever praised for something that wasn't his uncanny aim. It was a nice feeling. _Thanks_.

Xavier held out his hands, like he had last time and Flint was able to enter the Astral plane much easier this time. When he'd reached the blue figure of Xavier, he noticed six other coloured blurs behind him. It was sort of like an indistinct rainbow whose colours were incorrectly ordered. _I've invited some others to help you see how each set of shields can differ._

Flint felt a little awkward at the idea of sharing his thoughts with six others when he wasn't even sure who they were.

_Do not concern yourself. They all agreed to help you out and each has sworn that whatever you may share, whether intentionally or unintentionally will remain between us._

Flint was still wary but decided to trust Xavier who had never shown him anything remotely duplicitous since the archer's unexpected and uninvited arrival to his home. _Alright. Let's do it_.

_Now, you're not to try to find their mind/globe as such without their permission. I just want you to see what defences you could employ with your own. In fact, what I want you to do is try to determine who each person is. If you can._

Flint nodded his assent as a light blue blur moved forward.

The Astral plane shimmered and a large but beautiful snow globe appeared. The snow whirled around at a fast pace around a collection of houses which appeared to be an ordinary American suburban street. There were a collection of snowmen around the houses and many windows were adorned with Christmas lights. It was a truly beautiful scene.

_So_ wafted over a disguised voice. _Who do you think I am?_

Flint thought about it. He didn't really have any idea at all. _Um, I'm not really sure. I suppose you're female since it's a bit girly but other than that, I have no idea._

The blur shimmered into existence and Flint was surprised to find Bobby standing there with an unamused look on his face. _Girly?_

Shrugging unapologetically, Flint gave him a small grin.

_Now Bobby_ floated Xavier's voice _do you mind if Flint tries to enter your mind?_

_Be my guest_ smirked Bobby and Flint had a bad feeling about this. He gently knocked on the outside of the snow globe but it felt more solid than steel. He applied more force but the glass seemed impenetrable.

_As you can feel, substances may not be consistent with real life_ tutored Xavier patiently.

Flint stepped back and the image faded. Bobby stood beside Xavier as a silver blur moved up. The Astral plane shimmered again and before Flint was an immense silver farm field with an inordinate amount of hay bales. _Obviously, this particular mutant chose to hide his mind/globe like a needle in a farm full of haystacks. An effective tactic_.

The silver blur moved closer. _Who am I, Flint?_

_Someone farmy, I suppose. No idea._

_What if I mentioned... P__ано __утром __закуски__? (An early morning snack?)_

_I have no idea what you just said but it sounded Russian. Peter? _Flint thought. The blur immediately sharpened.

Before anything else could be said, a large yellowy shopping mall came into existence.

_This one has to be Jubilee's_ mused Flint.

The yellow girl appeared delighted that he'd remembered her previous residence but her grin turned wicked. _Why don't you try to get to my mind?_

Flint regarded the mall in front of him. The globe was prominently displayed at the top of the second floor. Flint stepped on the up escalator but when he got halfway up, it dumped him gracelessly back onto the floor with a psychic grunt. _Well, that was uncalled for_ he though as the girl giggled along with Bobby and Peter.

_Just call me the trap mistress._

That caused Flint to snort in amusement.

A pink world took the place of the yellow mall. It was a tiny in comparison to the others, just a small room. It was, however, filled with multi-coloured three-dimensional shapes. This was the first time he'd viewed a scene that had more than one colour in it, so it was a bit difficult to look at. When he was finally able to focus his eyes, he realised the colours were gradually changing, as were the shapes. They did seem to follow a pattern so eventually, every shape would at one point become the maroon mind/globe. _This has got to be some sort of professional telepath and the only other one besides Uncle Charlie that I can think of is Jean._

_Correct_ came the bubbly reply from the pink shape as the pink world darkened in colour.

The red scene was also small but looked dangerous. It was spherical in shape like the snow globe had been but was made of mirrors. Ordinarily that wouldn't be that worrisome for the ex-Avenger. What did concern him was the refracting red laser beams that were moving around the sphere in an unpredictable manner. He had a feeling touching them would hurt. He had no idea who this one belonged to and soon met Summers' smirking face. He supposed it figured since the man could only see in red. He'd have to come up with something better just to show the idiot up.

The last one was Flint's favourite of all. It was simplicity itself. In front of him stood a massive fifteen by fifteen square Rubik's cube. Each square held a symbol such as a circle, octagon or parallelogram. Who was smart enough to come up with such a brilliant strategy? The combination of brains and the dark blue colour gave him an idea. _Is this Hank's mind?_

The furry mutant fizzled into focus with a smile. _Indeed, you are correct, young Flint._

_Hank. That's freaking amazing. I know all I need to do is solve it but I never could._

_I live to cause consternation _smirked Beast.

_Of course you do_ Flint chuckled.

Xavier drew everyone's attention back to himself. _Thank you everyone for your cooperation, I'm sure Flint is most grateful._ Flint nodded in agreement_. And Flint, I hope this has given you much to consider. Tomorrow, we'll work on erecting shields of your own._ The other people fizzled out of existence.

As Flint returned back to consciousness (much more easily this time) he smiled. He had a couple of ideas for his shields and looked forward to trying them out. Speaking of trying new things out, he was also looking forward to the afternoon. Forge had said he'd be finished working on his 'power gloves' (as the Indian man had simplistically named them) by then. He was gonna be a fake mutant soon!


	7. Acidic X-planations

**A to X**

_Chapter Seven - Acidic X-planations _

Later that afternoon, there was a quiet knock at Flint's door. He hoped it would be Forge and wasn't disappointed. The Native American man led him back down to the basement. Apparently the mutant had just finished the prototype of his power gloves and wanted to give them a controlled test run.

The pair collected the gloves from one of the labs and took them to what Forge called the Danger Room. The Native Indian man was performing a final check of the gloves as Flint struggled to remove the fake ones he'd been almost constantly wearing. In fact, it felt a little strange to be without them. Forge showed him where the hidden buttons on the chassis were located and helped him to put the new ones on.

When the gloves were sitting comfortably and Flint had been briefed several times as to where the emergency release catches were, Forge left the large, spacious room and appeared a little later in the control room which overlooked the cavernous metallic room. "Alright," his voice said through the speakers, "Let's work our way from right to left. There are eight different chemical compounds designed to create different effects, much like how your quiver held arrows of different functions. Now, you're ambidextrous, correct?"

"Yeah, although I do favour my right hand," answered Flint, who was still examining his new gloves. He'd be lying if he claimed to have been listening patiently. He just wanted to try them out already!

"Good. That's why I outfitted your right hand with the more offensive of your applications. Plus I tried to place the most useful traits on your index and middle fingers but we can change the layout of the compounds at a later date if necessary," said Forge. A few moments later, some small targets appeared around the space, hovering listlessly in the air.

Flint had a strong suspicion that they were holographic. The archer walked up to one and rapped on it. He was quite surprised to find it both looked and felt solid, unlike Stark's holographic technology. "Amazing!" he mumbled as he moved to the circle that glowed a dull red in the centre of the room.

"Thanks," said Forge's computerised voice. "Alright, gently tap your right index finger to the middle of your palm once."

Flint did as was commanded and to his surprise, a small disc (the size of a penny) flew out of a well-hidden slot and tumbled to the floor. When it connected, it erupted into a small flame which burnt for less than a second before disappearing completely.

"Now try it again and this time catch the disc," commanded Forge.

It took Flint four attempts before he managed to hold onto one of the elusive discs. He was extremely thankful that it didn't burst into flames in his hands like he thought it might.

"Excellent. You obviously noticed the ten random targets around the room." Flint found Forge's deadpan delivery of what would sound like sarcasm with anyone else's voice amusing but he tried not to show it. "Each time you hit one, it will disappear. As soon as you've cleared the room, we'll move on."

For Flint, the difficult part was catching the rapid-fire discs. Aiming and throwing them were a breeze after years of archery and knife-throwing practice. He then moved on to his middle finger which froze the targets over and then the ring finger which emitted small clouds of light green gas. Forge informed him that it was to safely neutralise organic targets but would have to be headshots to be effective, while the small electronic surges of his pinkie finger were designed to negate electronics.

By this stage, catching the discs had become much easier for Flint. They then worked with his left glove which had more utilities than purely offensive applications. However this time, he was to add an extra touch of his finger for each target. So when his index finger produced a small flash-bang with one press, by five it was quite impressive and at ten it would be enough to disorient a full team if necessary. His middle finger controlled a smokescreen that became thicker with the extra doses to the point where even he couldn't see through it and let's face it, his vision was practically unparalleled. This left his ring and pinkie fingers which contained a small-scale sonic explosion and dissipating acid respectively. Forge had cleverly designed each effect to be temporary and leave no trace, that way it would be harder for organisations like SHIELD to track him and link him back to the Avengers.

"Fantastic work, Flint. Your reputation as an unparalleled marksman is well-earned." Despite having heard such comments at SHIELD many times, Flint felt a warmth rush through him at getting the serious, yet straightforward man's approval. He knew it wasn't just a throwaway remark. Forge genuinely meant it.

"Thanks Forge," smiled Flint.

"Now, I want you to wear those gloves for the next two days, without fail. It will be good for you to remember that you are now a weapon at all times, just like regular mutants. Actions you might otherwise have had no problems with before may now cause you difficulties you'd never even dreamed of," instructed Forge.

Flint nodded his head in earnest.

"You must also remember that you do not have unlimited ammo, so don't go overboard in front of the others. If you feel a gentle pulsing on the tip of one of your fingers, you're out of that particular compound," said Forge seriously. "If you somehow do manage to run out of discs, the mechanism will fuse so that the compounds won't be released on their own in your gloves."

"Okay," noted Flint as he flicked a couple of smokescreen discs errantly around the room.

"After a couple of days of self-discovery, I'll show you how to recharge the compounds safely," said Forge, "Then, I suggest that you organise a time to work with a few of the X-men. That way you can get used to operating within a team of mutants and we can iron out any kinks with your power gloves. Those involved in your testing phase should be made aware of your situation though."

Flint blanched. He knew that eventually the others would start to find out his real identity but he certainly didn't want it to happen this fast.

"Look," said Forge with a sigh. "I understand that you want to keep your identity under wraps but to work within the X-men effectively, at least a few of them should be informed of who you really are and your specific skills. Otherwise you're just setting the team up for failure."

"I know, I know," Flint grudgingly agreed with a growl.

"My suggestions for a three man team are as follows. Firstly, Jean. Charles mentioned that she already knows and she's a medic, an asset to have on hand in the early stages of mechanical development. Especially one that has telekinesis. The other two I'd propose are Storm and Cyclops because they're the two team leaders."

Flint frowned at the suggestion of Cyclops, who he was pretty sure was Summers. The last person he wanted knowing about his lack of powers was the irritating man who clearly thought the sun shone out of his own ass. "I'll take your suggestions under advisement," he agreed warily.

"Excellent," noted Forge. "We're done so feel free to leave whenever you like."

There was a soft click which led Flint to believe that Forge had shut off the open comm link. How was he supposed to thank the man for his help now? As much as he wanted to try out his new powers, he didn't want to waste them unnecessarily. Especially since they were limited, just like his arrows were. He already knew just how irritating being out of ammo could truly be.

Flint left the basement and ate some dinner. He selected a rather delicious steak to consume and sat with Jubes, Peter, Storm, some other kid he'd not met yet and a green, er, thing. Sort of a lizard guy. A bit strange but whatever, the Chitauri were weirder.

"Hey," he announced before sitting down and attacking his food.

There were a chorus of greetings from around the table.

"How are you settling in?" asked Storm with a warm smile.

Flint sent her one of his dazzling smiles. "Well enough. Everyone, er, nearly everyone's really nice here. It's a little strange actually. I've never met so many happy people. I'm sort of still waiting for something truly repulsive to happen like some sort of ritualistic slaughter of undead sheep or something."

Peter started chuckling while Storm looked on in what he could tell was concealed amusement. The nameless girl sprayed her peas across the table all over the lizard boy. Flint tried not to snicker at how camouflaged they would be on the green-skinned mutant. It was Jubilee who spoke. "Oh, I'm sorry. You haven't been here long enough to enjoy our Sunday Sacrificial Special. Wait, never mind. You're already eating the remains."

Flint, Peter and the green guy laughed out loud (despite the fact that the green guy was still trying find all of the pea residue) while Storm allowed herself a small chuckle.

"I thought this steak tasted a little dead," added Flint to the table's continued amusement.

Over the course of his meal, he learned many things like how if Storm manipulates the weather too much, it can change localised meteorological conditions to such an extent that just using her powers could upset the weather on a global scale. Seriously, fuck that. The other girl's name was Danielle and had some sort of psychic/nightmare powers. The green guy apparently regrew an arm that had been ripped out, which was why it was disproportionate in size to the smaller, more normalish looking one. Jubilee could speak fluent Mandarin Chinese despite growing up in Beverly Hills and Peter was turning twenty-two in a few weeks.

Just as he was about to take one last bite of his steak, he noticed his fork had somewhat dissolved and lay in bits and pieces under his hand. "Oh shit," he muttered to himself as he looked for a cloth or something to clean it up with.

Naturally Jubes was the first to notice. She snorted with laughter. "What did that poor, innocent fork ever do to you, Biceps?"

"Hey," spluttered Peter, "_мои бицепсы больше, чем его!_" (_My biceps are bigger than his!_) Flint's years of espionage experience were the only thing that stopped him from laughing aloud at the petty whinge.

Jubilee raised an eyebrow at the Russian. "I don't know what you just said but I hope it was dirty."

It was the green guy's turn to accidentally spray out some food, causing the table to laugh once more.

Flint retrieved a cloth plus a new fork from a nearby table and fixed up his mess. He'd have to pay more attention to his left hand utensils now that he had a portable acid generator in his gloves.

Taking another bite of steak, Flint pretended to ignore the stares he was receiving from his tablemates. His money was on Jubilee to crack first. He managed to eat four more bites of his steak before his eating was interrupted. "_Как ебать ты это сделал?_" (_How the fuck did you do that?_)

Flint really didn't know how he managed not to laugh this time. "Er, what?" he asked with what he hoped was a polite look of confusion.

Peter shook his head, as if he were trying to clear it. "Sorry. I said, how did you do that?"

"Well, it was, er, a power malfunction," Flint blushed. Really, he should have known better. He had been warned about this after all.

Jubilee squealed loudly. "Does that mean you're ready to talk about these awesome powers of yours?"

Flint couldn't help but roll his eyes and said, "I suppose," as if it were a huge chore. He could virtually feel the flutter of interest around the table. "I make mini-discs."

There was a deafening silence in his announcement's wake. Eventually, Ororo calmly inquired, "Mini-discs?" with an arched eyebrow.

"Yeah, one of these. You know, if I can get it to work," the ex-Avenger said with a wry grin. He made an ice disc and was extremely pleased that he managed to catch it. Missing it would have been totally embarrassing. He held up the small light blue disc for them all to see. Jubilee made grabby hands at it but Flint shook his head. "If anyone but me touches it, it'll go off and I don't want you to get hurt."

Jubilee pouted for a moment before saying, "That can melt spoons and such?"

"Watch and find out," smirked Flint as he flicked the disc up into the air. It seemed to hover for a moment before falling right into the girl's glass, causing the water within to freeze.

"That's not very melty, is it?" she pondered as she leant forward and stared intently at the frozen liquid. She gave a small shriek when another small disc (black in colour this time) fell into the glass and a small cloud of darkness wafted up.

Peter and the green guy were laughing at her girly scream. It was very unlike her.

"That still wasn't melty," she pouted and sent Flint a withering glare. "Alright explain how it works and why you were broken. Now."

The archer raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure you're not an interrogator in disguise?" She just glared in response. "Apparently so." He cleared his throat to take a brief moment to collect his thoughts. "So I make discs that explode with different stuff. At first I could only use fire and ice but a few weeks ago, different things started happening instead and I freaked out. So I came here because Uncle Charlie helps everyone else and I didn't really have anyone else to go to."

There were sympathetic nods around the table and Flint gave an internal sigh of relief. His story must have sounded believable.

"So what happened to the fork then?" asked Danielle. Her head was cocked to the side in thought.

"A-acid?" squeaked out Flint with a little embarrassment.

"So," stated the green guy, "you have ice, fire, smoke and acid in there. That's crazy," he said with what sounded like a little jealousy.

"Among other things," smirked Flint at the guy who glanced aside. His green cheeks darked a little which he found adorable. He was about to rib the poor guy but was stopped in his tracks by a loud telepathic message.

_Flint, I need to see you in my office immediately_ ordered Xavier in an uncharacteristically growly tone.

"Sorry guys, I've been summoned by the voices in my head," the archer said with a somewhat strained smile. Truth be told he was a bit concerned for Xavier. He'd sounded anything like his usual calm yet happy self. Bidding the others at his table adieu, he quickly deposited his dishes and cutlery (well, the ones that weren't goop due to an unexpected acid bath) onto the designated trolley.

The ex-Avenger strode purposefully to the Professor's office. How could he still be in that damn box of a room this late on a Sunday night? Seriously? That's almost as obsessive as Tony Stark which proves just how workaholic-ish he was being.

"Come in, Flint," came the muffled voice of Charles Xavier before he could even knock.

"You rang?" said Flint with a slight smile. The bald man seemed physically alright and his breathing was even so whatever had gotten him so worked up before might not be as bad as he'd originally expected. He was waved inside and to a chair.

"Yes. I apologise for disturbing your dinner but I thought you'd want to know immediately. I just had a, discussion, with one Nick Fury," imparted Charles.

Flint's eyes widened but gave no other indication that he was in any way affected by the news. "And?" he prompted flatly.

Xavier inhaled deeply before saying, "Don't worry. He doesn't know you're here."

The ex-Avenger heaved a sigh of relief before growling aloud. "Thank God. You had me worried there for a second. He can't find out. You know, there's a whole host of people in this damn mansion who could probably sell my identity for a vast sum of money to the right people. I really, really, really need to learn how to shield my mind and it's really starting to piss me the fuck off that I still can't do it."

"Look, I understand how frustrating this is for you," began the psychic and he held up a hand when Flint was about to interrupt him, "but how about we have one conversation at a time, hmm?"

Flint glared a little at the man before jerkily nodding his assent.

"Basically Fury is searching for two of his best agents which have gone AWOL. He has no idea where either can be found and he's hoping to keep the matter quiet." Xavier tiredly rubbed his eyes. "Are you expecting company? Because harbouring one SHIELD agent from Director Fury will be challenging enough but hiding two..."

Flint accidentally tuned out the older man when his heart began to race because COULSON. It had to be Phil looking for him because he missed him, right? But him looking for Clint Barton wouldn't be an off book mission. If anything, it would be completely by the book. He went from holding a small, warm bubble of hope to feeling his entire insides fall out beneath him. It wasn't Coulson. It couldn't be...

"Flint?" said Xavier with a touch of concern.

The man in question blinked for a moment before refocussing his attention back on the mutant he was sitting across from. "Sorry, what?" he asked in confusion.

The professor gave him a small smile. "Are we expecting the Black Widow to join us?"

"TASHA?" Flint shrieked in a very unmanly way. His heart practically stopped. SHIELD he could run and hide from. Natasha? Not so much. He was one hundred and ten percent doomed. "N-no. I'm not expecting her to live here or anything but chances are she ran away to find and kill me." He blanched at the thought.

Xavier steepled his fingers below his chin. "How long do you think it will take her to locate you?"

Flint shrugged. "I don't know. Anywhere from hours to years. All I know is that she'll never give up unless she finds me or my rotting carcass. Either way, she'll punch the living or not so living daylights out of me when she does."

Snorting in amusement, Charles added, "Well, out of everyone at the mansion, only Storm and Jean had any real contact with the woman. They were the two that joined the Avengers on that mission last year."

"I remember," noted Flint. "Ororo hasn't made the connection between Flint and Clint yet but Forge suggested that in a couple of days, I should train with a few X-men to get used to mutant team dynamics. He also suggested that the people in the exercise should know the truth about me and she was one of them names that he floated. What do you think?"

Xavier nodded. "That sounds reasonable enough if you are comfortable with her knowing. I can personally vouch for her although I'm sure you've already made your own assessments of her character. Who else were you thinking of involving?"

"Jean," said Flint. "She already knows and can help out if the gloves explode or something." Charles nodded in agreement. "The last one was Forge suggested is Summers but I'd prefer not to work with him yet, if that's possible." He frowned just at the thought of Jean's irritating boyfriend. Now that was one guy he could live without seeing again. Laughter brought the man back to the present and he realised the telepath must have been hearing him again.

"Look, Littleflint. If you don't want to work with Scott yet, that's fine," assured the professor. "However, you will have to eventually deal with him in the end. That said, there are only a few other candidates I would advise. Firstly, you could use Angel although the man has little experience in the field. Another option could be one of the older students like Rogue, Kitty, Peter or Jubilee but I'm not sure if you would like any of the younger ones to know the truth about you."

"Yeah, not if I can help it," muttered Flint to himself. "Hey, what about Wolverine? He looks like he knows how to fight."

"Oh he most certainly does," agreed Charles, "but I strongly advise against it."

Flint frowned at the disabled man. "Why not? Don't you think I can take him?"

"I'm sure you could hold your own," placated Xavier, "but that's not why. You see, he has the remarkable ability of self-regeneration. While that's hardly an issue, a side effect of this power is that determining his age is incredibly difficult. He underwent some rather radical procedures against his will in the past and has a fractured memory. A part of his past that he can recall is serving in the Second World War alongside Captain America."

"No way!" said Flint with wide eyes.

"Yes. It's true and there's more. Out of everyone here, Logan is the only one who will give Fury the time of day because he knew his father, Jack. Of anyone to betray your secret to SHIELD, it would most likely be him. Really, you're just lucky that you didn't meet him as Hawkeye because he would have recognised your scent and any chance of anonymity would have already been lost," Xavier explained. "Also, he has hypersensitive hearing so guard your words carefully."

"Thanks for the heads up, Uncle Charlie," smiled Flint, "and you also gave me an excellent idea. Another mutant with similarly sensitive senses. Hank. He wanted to be there for the preliminary testing and couldn't make it, plus he already knows who I am, so if he's around, he'd be perfect for the exercise. What do you think?"

"Agreed," said Charles decisively. "I'll contact him immediately and when he becomes available, I'll book the Danger Room for you. Now just to double-check, you want to work with Jean, Ororo and Hank, correct?"

Flint nodded with a smile.

I'll make all of the arrangements and I'll even monitor the Danger Room session myself to keep the abhorrent Scott Summers away from you," Xavier chortled and ended up laughing loudly at Flint's sour expression. "And while we're on the go, if you have some time free tomorrow after the shopping trip you're unconsciously planning, I'd like to schedule in some time to get started on forging those psychic shields of yours as soon as possible."

Flint leaned over the table and awkwardly hugged the bald man. "That would be great. You know how much it's been screwing with my head."

"Indeed," smiled Xavier gently. "There's only one other matter left to discuss. I've looked through your SHIELD file. Don't worry, there's no way they can trace it since their computer system promised Forge that she wouldn't tell."

"The computer system promised?" Flint warily echoed back.

"His natural affinity for machines allows him to communicate with sophisticated technology," Charles said absently, waving the detail away as unimportant. "Anyway, your file indicates that you have an impressive command over several languages, yes?"

Flint nodded with mild confusion. Where was he going with this? "Yeah. I have an excellent understanding of English, French, German and Russian. I can also get by on Spanish, Italian and Latin if necessary. My Portuguese is pretty shit though and I've always sucked at the Asian dialects. Why?" He was starting to get extremely concerned because Charles Xavier was smirking at him. That was definitely not a good sign.

"You're just the man I've been looking for," said Xavier placidly.

"I am?" asked Flint warily.

"Yes. I've been looking for competent foreign language teachers for quite some time now," said Xavier as his smirk widened.

Flint's eyes almost popped out of his head, "Wait, wait, wait. You want me to teach? As in children? Seriously? I can't do that!"

Raising an eyebrow, Charles noted, "I think you can. Angel is already teaching business and art along with French while Kurt takes dance, film, music and German. Is it fair to them to be so overworked when a linguistic specialist is staying here already?"

"Well," groused Flint, "that was a nice corner you just backed me into. Fine. I'll give it a try but I make no promises."

"That's all I ask," said Xavier. "Take a week to see how the classes run."

"How charitable of you," muttered Flint sarcastically. "Well, it's late and I'm off to bed. I'll drop by sometime tomorrow morning to grab a set of keys if that's alright."

"I look forward to seeing you then," said Charles warmly. "Goodnight."

"'Night," sent Flint over his shoulder as he left the room. He let his thoughts run away with him as he made his way back to his room. _A teacher? Seriously? Charlie wants me to teach kids? Sure I've taught basic archery classes at SHIELD but this? KIDS?_

The ex-Avenger opened his door and sighed loudly. He showered and completed his nightly routine and was just snuggling down into bed when he heard a familiar voice.

"Good evening, Mr Barton."


	8. Avengers X-posé

Hey there. Sorry that this took an extra week to get to y'all. As I read the chapter through last week, I realised that I pretty much hated everything I'd written. I completely re-wrote it and am much more pleased with the new version.

Also, thanks to agd888 for the review. Sorry I left it on a cliffie but it was the only place I could really stop the action easily. Also to the favouriters and followers. Each one means a lot to me.

I hope you like this new chappie. Jace.

* * *

**A to X**

_Chapter Eight - Avengers X-posé_

Flint sat upright in a flash. "JARVIS?" he said tentatively as he warily scanned the room.

"How are you?" asked the artificial intelligence.

Leaping to his feet, the ex-Avenger listened intently to the voice and tried to locate its source. "I'm doing okay. How are you here? Is Stark tracking me down?"

"Sir knows nothing about this," sniffed the computerised voice. "I'm just following his directive; to ensure the safety and well-being of every Avenger to best of my ability."

Flint eventually worked out the origin of the transmission and could have smacked himself in the head. It was coming from the man-bag he'd been gifted from the billionaire philanthropist. He and Xavier had swept all of the firearms and tech for electronics but not the satchel itself. Since it wasn't SHIELD issued, he thought it was clean but anything from Stark was likely to be more than whatever the hell it actually was. He should have known better. "So Tony knows nothing about this conversation?" checked Flint tentatively.

There was a slight pause before JARVIS's very dry response was, "I'm quite certain that I already answered that particular question, Mr Barton, no matter how you choose to paraphrase it. It is clear to me that any prolonged contact with the Avengers at this point would be harmful to your mental health. So until I believe otherwise or you are officially removed from the Avengers roster, I will keep any conversations we may have completely confidential."

"Thanks JARV," said Flint with a relieved sigh. "So how have you been?"

If an AI program could snort, he probably would have done so here. "I'm as excellent as always."

"And what about the others?" pressed Flint.

"Sir is busy working on his latest prototype while improving his firewalls. Apparently SHIELD tried to remotely hack one of his older sets of armour and Mr Stark took exception to that. There's a ninety-eight point three percent chance that Sir will wreak some sort of technological havoc on the helicarrier within the next six hours."

Flint laughed loudly. Nicky should have known better than to piss Tony off. "You'll have to let me know how that pans out, JARV."

"Of course, Mr Barton," assured the AI. "The Captain has been rather listless since Agent Coulson was recalled to SHIELD headquarters. He's been spending much more time than usual in the gymnasium and on his artwork."

The archer really couldn't care less about the leader of the Avengers. The automatic flinch he felt at his ex-whatever's name was a little less painful than it had been since he'd run away in the first place and he really hoped he'd been called to Fury to try to explain how his two best assets had gone AWOL on his watch. If only his bugs near the one eyed man's office were still intact. He'd pay a fortune to hear that particular conversation. Serves the fucker right.

"Dr Banner has been working tirelessly on a formula he's been developing in his lab, Mr Wilson has been holed up in the Stark Industries R&D Department and Mr Odinson has returned to Asgard to attend some sort of springtime feast," summed up JARVIS.

"I heard that Natasha's left. What do you know about it?" asked Flint curiously. Was she really pissed off with him? He hoped not or no force on the Earth could stop her vengeance.

"You are exceptionally well informed, for an escapee," noted JARVIS with what sounded like mild surprise mixed with a hint of suspicion. "If you would be so kind as to turn the bag around," asked the AI politely.

Flint sceptically followed the instructions and looked at the back of the man-bag. It was the same plain black leather as it was everywhere else. However, there was a small electronic window in its centre with a bright purple and black flashing display which read _This bag is the property of Hawkeye. If you're not him, fuck off before he puts an arrow through your eye for touching his stuff!_ Man he loved that message and he'd even voluntarily hugged the genius for the thoughtful gift.

"Now, place your right thumb on the identification window," continued JARVIS, who sounded rather smug at ordering the archer around.

Doing as he was told, Flint thumbed the screen and blinked in surprise as a red line went across it from left to right. As the line moved, it wiped the labelled text away. _Accessing database_ scrolled over the window followed by _Identity confirmed. Welcome Hawkeye._ There was a slight click and to his immense surprise, the back of the man-bag folded down to reveal a computer screen in the bag itself and a laser projected keyboard appeared on the flap. Trust Stark to pimp out a simple bag with his technology.

"Do not be alarmed, Mr Barton," soothed JARVIS, despite the fact that the archer wasn't particularly worried about anything at the moment. "This computer system is completely separate from the Stark Industries network and although my connection to it has laid dormant, you can disable any interference (including my own) through the settings at any time."

That caused Flint's heart rate to suddenly rise. "Does it have a GPS tracker in it?" he asked.

"Yes," came the immediate reply.

"Disable it and any other way that Tony might use to determine my location," ordered Flint somewhat frantically. "I don't want him or anyone else knocking on my door."

"Done, Mr Barton."

Flint breathed a huge breath of relief. "Okay. Next, at this place I'm known under a different name. Flint Robertson. Can you change your form of address please? I don't want anyone to think I'm living a lie if I can help it and some of the people here have extremely sensitive hearing."

"As you wish, Mr Robertson," noted JARVIS. "I have also taken the liberty of altering your welcome screen in accordance with your directions."

Smiling widely, Flint said, "Thanks so much JARV and it's so good to hear your voice again." It certainly was. Just hearing the AI's somewhat snarky tone somehow soothed him, adding a slight sense of normalcy from his previous life into his shiny new one.

"I wholeheartedly agree, Mr Robertson. Now, I believe you were inquiring about Ms Romanoff earlier, yes?" asked the artificial intelligence.

Flint snorted. "As if you could forget anything, JARVIS. Tell me what you know."

"I can do one better, which is why I wanted you to open the computer in the first place," stated the artificial intelligence haughtily. "This altercation took place yesterday evening at 9:17pm."

Before Flint could say anything, the screen came to life showing the den of the tower from one of Tony's internal security cameras. As JARVIS was the only other entity besides Stark himself to have access to them, the quality of the movie was flawless. The angles of the video clip would change from shot to shot as if it had been edited like a movie which he suspected was due to the almighty JARVIS and his propensity to be polished in every aspect of his assigned duties. It also reminded the man that he had just spent the last couple of years on candid camera. That was a bit creepy. He blinked his errant thoughts away before focussing his attention on the scene that was playing out in front of him.

Thor was happily munching on a plate full of pop tarts while he leaned back comfortably on a recliner. Sitting next to the man on a matching seat was Bruce who was tiredly polishing his glasses. Coulson and Cap were lying together on the loveseat, which caused Flint's breath to catch. As he was by himself for the moment, he allowed a few tears out at the man he'd once thought he could possibly spend his life with. That's all he'd ever really wanted, to be by his love's side and now that blond bastard had taken his place and could do so in front of the whole fucking team. It hurt so much. Apparently Tony had seen such sights often in the archer's absence because he glanced at the pair and exaggeratedly rolled his eyes at his girlfriend, causing Pepper (who was sitting on his lap) to smack him gently in the head.

Flint felt a pang of longing. Out of everyone in the tower, excluding Natasha, Tony was the one he got on with the best. In fact, the genius was definitely his best male friend. Ever. Their humour and sarcasm gelled nicely, they both had their share of issues and were more than happy to help distract the other if they needed their minds taken away from that fact. If someone had told him after he'd recovered from Loki's mind control that he would become such good friends with the playboy, he would have sent them to SHIELD medical in a heartbeat. Strange how life turns out sometimes, isn't it?

The television turned off at the snap of a set of fingers to dismayed cries from the occupants as they looked around the room for the source. Apparently they'd been watching the original Jaws movie. "Natasha," whined Tony when he spotted the woman standing statuesquely in the doorway but he instantly shut up when he noticed her posture. Her arms were crossed, her eyes narrowed and her left eyebrow was slightly twitching.

Flint couldn't help but gasp in surprise. It was the angriest he'd seen her since that fucktastic mission in the heart of the Amazon rainforest where the two of them had been stranded for three weeks. They'd hiked their way back to civilisation only to discover it had been a survival exercise and they hadn't been lost in the first place. Even Fury thought she'd been about to gouge out his remaining eye in her almost uncontrollable rage.

The woman strode toward the loveseat and Flint smirked as Cap tried to sink further into it. He'd always been skittish around women, strong ones even more so. The expression on his face was pure petrification. She reached down and hauled Coulson to his feet by his tie, who only betrayed his complete surprise at the situation with his slightly widened eyes. When he was standing by his own power, she unexpectedly punched him in the face.

"What?" he barked out in a very un-Coulson-like voice.

"I can't believe you," Natasha, no, the Black Widow seethed. There was practically nothing of his best friend on her face at the moment. "How dare you!" she all but raged.

It was clear that the agent had no idea what she was going on about. "How dare I what?" he asked with complete confusion.

The Widow's eyes must have flicked to look at Cap because when Coulson was momentarily distracted, he paid for his inattention. He glanced at his boyfriend (who was trying and failing to look smaller on the couch) and she punched him again but on the other side of his face and yelled, "_Вы __пизда__!_" Flint knew Coulson would have the identical black eyes of a racoon for days to come and almost fell sorry for him but he'd never heard Tasha drop the c-bomb before and it was the most terrifying thing he'd ever heard her utter.

"Romanoff, control yourself," demanded Captain America, who got such a venomous look in reply that he blanched and ducked his head down again.

The woman turned her gaze back upon Coulson who finally seemed to gain at least an ounce of self-preservation and instinctually stepped back. As she slowly advanced like a lioness stalking her prey, the other agent kept backpedalling until he reached the wall. Quick as a flash, the Widow reached behind her back, grabbed something she'd kept hidden and threw it right next to Coulson's head. Flint recognised it immediately; it was his ankle knife, Shirley. Shirley had gotten him out of many a tight jam and he'd hated leaving her behind almost as much as letting Morgan (his bow) go.

Flint watched Coulson's eyes flicker to his knife (which was now deeply embedded in the den's wall) and then all around the place as his mind drew out possible scenarios. He saw the moment when the agent reached the only real possible conclusion.

"But why..." Coulson said thoughtfully to himself as the Black Widow snorted at his stupidity.

"If you don't know why, you're stupider than I thought. I'm going to find him," she announced before striding toward the doorway.

"NO," barked Coulson with authority. "I can't be two down."

The assassin looked at the agent like she'd never actually seen him before. "If you didn't want to be short, you shouldn't have royally screwed up in the first place." She folded her arms which seemed more threatening than anything she'd said before.

"Er, okay," interrupted a confused Stark. "I know I'm a super genius and everything but can one of you please explain what the fuckity fuck is going on?"

Turning her attention from the agent to the playboy, Flint saw the Widow drain from her eyes as his friend returned. She breathed heavily and growled out, "It's nothing."

Tony and Bruce shared confused glances at each other while Thor continued to munch on his pop tarts unconcernedly. Pepper was tapping her leg as she mulled over the cryptic situation. Cap quietly tried to move to Coulson's side without garnering the angry woman's attention and was completely unsuccessful. She eyed the national icon with pure disdain as he hid behind his boyfriend who was still gazing at the ankle knife embedded in the wall with visible astonishment. It seemed the unflappable agent had finally been thrown enough to show it. Ordinarily, Flint would have been ecstatic at his obvious surprise but having his life turned upside down like it had was more than enough to dull his enthusiasm.

"Oooookay," said Sam as he entered the den, immediately noticing the tense atmosphere permeating the room. "Ah, what's going down?" The dark skinned man shifted a little uncomfortably as he glanced at each teammate in turn.

"In all honesty, only Natasha seems to have all the answers," replied Bruce, "and she's keeping her cards close to her chest."

"Cards?" asked the Asgardian with confusion, taking an interest in the conversation for the first time. He stared overtly at the sleek curves of the Russian spy's body. "Is this an extension of the mighty game called Poo-ka that the Man of Iron was teaching to me last week? Are we supposed to frisk you for the numbered talismans?"

Natasha gave Thor a look that promised much pain and humiliation for the God if he ever dared to place his hands anywhere on her person. He looked sheepishly away. Bruce, Sam, Tony and Pepper where all laughing while Cap and Coulson appeared to be too shaken from their close brush with death to find anything remotely resembling amusement.

"Anyway," said Natasha, "I have a mission to complete and will be gone indefinitely. I'll return when I complete my objective but it could take several weeks if not months."

The superspy answered a few questions, retrieved Shirley from the wall and bid her friends goodbye before sweeping out of the room. Coulson hastened to follow her without a word. The last Flint saw of the den was the movie resuming before the camera shots began following his SHIELD ex-comrades.

Coulson eventually caught up to the woman as she was halfway through packing her usual deep cover mission supplies. She slightly stiffened at his voice. "Don't leave Romanoff. If Clint truly has deserted SHIELD, we need you with the Avengers now more than ever."

The assassin whirled around, a black cat suit held firmly in her grasp. "We both know that if Clint wants to disappear, he will and if anyone can find him, it's me. My allegiance has always been to SHIELD and by extension, the Avengers but if you were stupid enough to do what I'm almost certain you've done, you will never have me working for you again. I will find him and in the meantime, I suggest you work out a way to explain this to Fury because we both know there's no way that you can stop me from walking out," she explained before shunting the agent from her room.

Flint watched as his best friend completed packing her effects and her eyes swept around the room. She nodded in satisfaction before picking everything up and retrieving his ankle knife. Her next destination appeared to be his old room. It was shocking how much he both missed his old abode and yet was relieved to be far away from it at the same time. His conflicted emotions rolled around his chest as he watched Natasha comb through his room.

Despite knowing that he'd never left any indication of where he was going, he still felt anxious that Tasha might somehow divine his destination regardless but she eventually let out a small huff of disappointment. She carefully packed Shirley and Morgan into her bag before zipping it up and approached the mirror above his bedside table.

The camera shot changed from the corner of the room to looking directly into her face and Flint felt a moment of victory. "I always thought he'd have a camera hidden behind the mirror, the pervert," he crowed in delight.

JARVIS smugly said, "You are incorrect, Mr Robertson. The camera is in the frame of the mirror, not behind it."

"Eh, po-tay-to po-tah-to," shrugged Flint as he watched Tasha fiddle with her hair a bit.

When the SHIELD agent was satisfied with her appearance, she glared at her reflection. Hard. "Clint," she barked, causing the man in question to start in surprise. "I know you well enough to be certain that at some point in the future, you'll gain access to Stark's security feeds."

Wow. She'd totally left weird sort of voicemail message knowing he'd eventually find it. It was just another reminder that she was one of the best espionage agents in the business. Always five steps ahead of the opposition, even if her enemy is himself.

"I'm not happy with you in the slightest, _Вы __немного __дерьма_ (_you little shit_) but I want you to know that I understand. Although you never told me with words, I knew of your dealings with Agent Coulson." Her voice hardened considerably as she spat out the name of her SHIELD handler. "I know you may not be ready to hear this yet but you deserve so much better than that _идиот_ (_idiot_) and I hope you find whoever he is soon."

Flint felt a swell in his heart at her words. He knew if anyone would understand, it would be her.

"That said," she continued with an edge of steel in her voice, "how dare you run away from the Avengers, from me, without a word of farewell. I don't care that a clean break is harder for me to track..." her eyebrows narrowed, "...you know I'll find you. You should have told me. I was so angry with you at first, then at Coulson and Rogers but now I'm sort of pleased. If I had to stay in close quarters with those men (and I use the term men very loosely) for any length of time, I'd probably murder them and I do not want Fury on my case for killing American's brightest star."

"Look," Tasha said with a softened voice, "Take care of yourself, Clint. Don't get out of shape, stay well clear of Fury and most of all, do your best to forget about Coulson. Every moment you spend thinking about him, is a moment wasted and you'll need to stay sharp if you want to survive the next time we meet. I'll see you soon. Count on it." The redhead uncharacteristically blew a small kiss at the mirror and gave a brief and rare smile.

The screen went blank.

"So she's left the Avengers to look for me," thought Flint aloud to himself. "I knew she'd do that."

"Indeed," agreed JARVIS, causing Flint to jump. He'd forgotten that the artificial intelligence was still here.

"So despite Natasha going all stalker/serial killer, is there anything else in the works at the moment, JARV?" asked Flint.

"Well, there is a small, related matter of which you should probably be apprised of," said the artificial intelligence. "Agent Coulson, Mr Rogers and Mr Stark will be holding a press conference tomorrow afternoon announcing that both Miss Romanoff and your former self are on leave for the foreseeable future."

"Huh," said Flint to himself. So SHIELD was already looking to replace him. No surprise there. Fury always had plans within plans and a contingency for nearly every situation. He was probably now putting considerable resources into finding him so he'd have to be extra special careful over the next few weeks. "That didn't take them long. Was it on Fury's orders or did Ph... er, Coulson decide this for himself?"

"The command came straight from the Director himself," the AI replied.

There was a small click and instead of JARVIS's smooth tones, the angry and familiar yell of the Director of SHIELD was heard. "I don't care what it takes, Coulson. Clean up your own damn mess. I'll put every available resource on finding YOUR assets but in the meantime, let the team and the public know that Barton and Romanoff are both on deep cover assignments and will be temporarily on leave until further notice."

"Are you sure that's wise..." said Coulson's steady voice before he was talked over by a still irate Fury.

"Last I checked, Coulson, I'm the Director of this organisation and if I deem something to be the wisest course of action, it damn well is. Also, it was your job to keep your assets in line at which you failed spectacularly. Run interference with the remaining Avengers," ordered Fury.

"How..." started Coulson.

"Work it out for yourself," snarked the Director over the top of his agent. "I'm going to have enough headaches courtesy of you keeping the rest of the world in line and scrounging out new recruits."

"Recruits, Sir?" asked the agent somewhat tentatively, as if he thought he might get yelled over for a third time in a row.

There was a lengthy silence, in which Flint assumed Fury was giving his patent 'Evil-Eyed Death Glare of Doom' before he said, "If this situation wears on, we're going to need more Avengers to help protect the Earth from global threats. I have a few people in mind but you already have enough to deal with at the moment so get going."

"Yes Sir," came Agent Coulson's immediate reply before the clicking sound occurred again, letting the ex-Avenger know that the recording had been shut off.

Flint would be lying if he said he wasn't surprised at the turn of events. "So they're looking for new Avengers now," he thought aloud.

"The Director has been searching for additional avengers to be on a reserve list for the last year," supplied JARVIS.

"Really?" said Flint with shock. Once again, the Director was keeping his operational specifics close to his chest. "Oh well. It does seem like a Nicky thing to do."

"Indeed," affirmed the artificial intelligence.

"So how much of SHIELD does Tony have bugged?" the archer asked.

"Although I have been expressly forbidden from answering all questions about any alleged Stark Industries issued recording devices in government facilities, I would just like to state that it is highly likely that there is extensive coverage of any pertinent agencies that work in close quarters with the Avengers."

Flint smiled at the evasive but positive non-answer. If there was a loophole, JARVIS could find and exploit it. Thank God the AI was on their side. "I see. Thanks for the heads up about the press conference tomorrow. I'll be able to maintain my cover much more easily now."

"You are most welcome, Mr Robertson. I didn't want the broadcast to blindside you," said the artificial intelligence.

"You're a true gentleman, JARV," noted Flint warmly. "Anyway, it's getting late and as much as I've appreciated your unexpected company, I need to get my beauty sleep."

"Then I shall let you get as much as possible since it's obvious you need it," snarked the AI before he bid the ex-Avenger goodnight.

Flint closed the hidden computer compartment and resuspended the man-bag on his door. Despite his long and busy day, he found himself quickly lulled to sleep.


	9. Amassing and X-perimenting

**A to X**

_Chapter Nine - Amassing and X-perimenting_

Flint woke up at a reasonable hour the next day. He had to laugh quietly to himself. As usual, Xavier was right on the money, he had been considering another shopping trip and while taking a gloriously hot shower, decided to go through with it. He applied his emo disguise again and was a bit surprised at how quickly he'd gotten used to it. Especially his new awesome power gloves.

Barely catching on reflex the keys that were hurled at his head the moment he entered Charles' office, the ex-Avenger could only chuckle. "Well good morning to you too, Uncle Charlie," he chuckled warmly. If it weren't for his superior training, he definitely would have been clocked in the head. That would have hurt.

"And to you too, Littleflint," smirked the bald man. He gestured to a chair in which the archer quickly sat himself. "I know you want to get this trip done and dusted as soon as possible but I have a few things for you that may make your life a little easier."

Now that caught Flint's attention and he leaned forward slightly with interest.

Xavier opened one of his desk drawers and extracted a passport. He passed it over to Flint who looked it over with interest. It was filled with the correct misinformation of his cover and had a photograph of a man who looked similar to himself. It was close enough that he envisioned having little trouble with it. It's not like he couldn't think of at least twenty different ways to smuggle himself out of the country if he really needed to off the top of his head anyway. He was then passed matching passport and social security cards along with a birth certificate, Pennsylvanian driver's licence and even two older and more battered cards for Medicaid and an expired North State High School ID.

"Wow," said Flint with earnest. "You guys are good. If I didn't actually know these are fakes, I never would have guessed."

Smiling broadly, Charles accepted the praise gracefully. "We've had a lot of experience in the area with our large proportion of runaway students and in some instances adults. I have a system in place with several reliable friends who are more than happy to prioritise my requests. As you can see, they're extremely good at what they do."

"That's for sure," agreed Flint as he re-examined the documents and cards. He grabbed out his phone and added a wallet to his lengthy list of items to purchase. Now that he had more than just his credit card, he needed somewhere to store them all. Actually, he needed to fix up his credit card too. It had been challenging to keep the fact that his card had his real name on it from Jubilee and her friends without arousing their suspicions but he wasn't an espionage expert for nothing. "Thanks so much, Charlie," he said as he rose from his seat.

Xavier waved the praise away. "There's a parking space by Scott's red convertible available for any automotive you may consider buying today, now that you have the appropriate licence."

Flint blinked. He'd forgotten to add a new car to his list. How incredibly stupid of him. He rectified that error immediately. "Cool. Anyway, I better get to it if I want to finish anytime today."

"Of course," agreed the telepath. "If you are able to, please stop by my office this afternoon if you want to begin constructing your psychic shields."

"Will do," said Flint with a wink as he strode purposefully from the room with a grateful smile. He almost bodily ran into Jubilee who took the opportunity to feel up his biceps again with a girly sigh that sounded far too feminine for the rough and tumble firecracker. He thanked his superior training for stopping him from screaming in a very unmanly way.

"God, your arms are still amazing!" she squealed, with a final grope before she regretfully pulled away. She shook her head gently then smirked. "So the Prof-man asked me to give you a drive up town," she said with a tap on her head indicating that it was not a verbal conversation. "Can't you drive or something?"

Flint snorted, "I've been driving since you were knocking about that mall. Actually, one of the things I'm buying today is a car of my own."

Blinking in surprise as she started heading for the front door of the mansion, Jubes asked, "So how the hell can you afford one? Xavier has a strict budget for each new student and although he usually foots more for adults, you surely must have used it up with your clothing splurge."

Sending a wide grin her way, Flint said, "Well, there are perks to being a member of the family. Uncle Charlie's always been good to me."

"Lucky bastard," she muttered under her breath.

The drive to Manhattan Island was rather uneventful, if you could call holding onto the armrest and praying to every deity he could think of for safety uneventful. Jubes somehow managed to pull up in two parks, narrowly avoiding a bench and tree, right in front of the JP Morgan bank he'd visited only four days before.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," said Flint as he saw the mallrat reach for the door handle. "I'm afraid this is a solo shopping mission. As much as I think you're awesome with a capital A, I have a meeting with Uncle Charlie right after lunch and if you come along, I won't get everything done."

Jubilee's hand froze near the handle and there was a large, uncomfortable silence. "You totally owe me something amazing for this, Biceps."

"Erm," stuttered Flint, "How about you get first drive of my new car?"

In an instant, Jubes' frown was replaced with a blinding smile. "It's a deal. Just don't buy a granny car or something totally lame that no one in their right mind would be caught dead in, okay?"

"Sure," the ex-Avenger agreed before waving as the car sped off down the road and he couldn't help but sigh with relief. She was scarier on the road than being held at knifepoint by the Black Widow, which was truly saying something.

As Flint neared the bank branch, he smiled widely as Tessa approached him and barged yet another underling out of her way. It appeared to be her signature move. "Hey Tessa," he greeted.

"Good morning, Mr Barton," she replied with a toothpaste white grin. "What can I do for you today?"

"Do you mind if we retreat into one of your conference rooms again?" the ex-Avenger asked.

"Not at all. Follow me," the executive said as they found an empty one. When the pair were seated, she re-asked her previous question.

"As I'm sure you can imagine, I've been keeping a very low profile," noted Flint. "Hence the disguise."

"Of course," agreed Tessa.

"I've moved in with a friend of mine and his extended family but we agreed that I board under a pseudonym. I was wondering if there was any possibility of getting a new credit card with my alias on it instead of my actual name just in case any of the others get nosy?"

Tessa eyed him archly for a moment. "Under current US laws, misrepresenting yourself with a banking institution is a criminal offence. I'm sure you're already aware of that fact." Her expression changed to a somewhat sly look. "That said, as you are one of our top clients, I'm sure there is some sort of contract we can draw up which would be able to satisfy both your requirements and those of the law."

They hashed out the details which involved a sizable deduction of his funds if he used the new card to intentionally defraud the company over the better part of an hour but he walked out of the bank with his credit card now issued under his new name of Flint Robertson. Apparently it would also show up as such on any receipts so he would be able to shop in peace. In fact, all he was worried about now was being constantly on guard for Natasha every time he left the mansion. Not that she couldn't break in if she really wanted to but for some reason the building gave off a safe vibe that was difficult to ignore.

After hopping a cab to a not-really-close-enough-to-walk-to-but-sort-of-nearby shopping complex, the archer went about buying the bulkier purchases on his list. He wasn't too worried about the majority of the smaller things since he'd soon be able to drive around whenever he wanted to. It was a surreal experience. He'd never got to select his own furniture before. At the circus he made do with what was supplied which was a trend that continued when he moved into SHIELD with their Spartan quarters. Tony had already kitted out his room in the Avengers Tower with everything he could ever want plus many things he really didn't. His new bar fridge was unashamedly amazing with killer black lights and an LED screen on the front that he'd probably never use.

Flint grabbed a snack from the food court and went in search of a new car. It was another thing he'd never bought for himself before since Stark had so many and he was (strangely enough) more than willing to share them with Merida, as he would sometimes be called.

In the end, the archer couldn't really care less which car he bought, much to the sales rep's consternation (whose name was Bill) so he just picked the closest black car. It turned out to be some kind of Chevrolet but what the model actually was, he had no idea. He'd been forced to drive (hotwire) so many different vehicles to quickly escape on missions that had gone awry that he could make do with pretty much anything. Just as long as it didn't look too pretentious and draw unwanted attention to himself, it was all good.

Having followed Xavier's suggestion of getting the bulk of his purchases delivered directly to the mansion itself, he conveniently arrived back as the majority of them were being taken up to his room. It distracted him from his original instinct to scrape his new car key along the length of Summers' car which was probably for the best. Having telepaths for sleuths was just not fair. Apparently, Charlie pulled some sort of Jedi mind trick on the deliverymen so they would fail to notice that the staff and students of the Xavier Institute were clearly mutants. Although it was a useful scam, the whole idea of mind control still sort of freaked him out.

The ruckus and unfamiliar faces drew a lot of attention from adults and students alike who crowded around, enjoying the spectacle since it must have been lunchtime during the school day. As he looked around, Flint was still in awe with the diverse range of mutant powers he'd witnessed so far. At the Tower, Tony, Sam, himself and Natasha are regular humans who utilise tech. Both Bruce and Cap are just physically enhanced (although to quite an extreme) so the only Avenger with any sort of other power is Thor with his electrical and flight capabilities.

In the X-mansion, there are all sorts of powers on display pretty much constantly. There are shapeshifters, teleporters, fliers, elementals, physically and mentally enhanced mutants, empaths and pretty much anything else imaginable. It always surprised Flint that the place didn't just spontaneously combust every few days or so.

After spending some time arranging his new purchases, as requested, the archer spent the afternoon in Xavier's office constructing his psychic shields.

Flint's first idea was to make some sort of huge tower but decided against it. Using any of the places he'd been to while with SHIELD was a complete no-no. It would totally give him away. In fact, there was only one place he thought no one would be able to connect him to. Well that wasn't entirely true. His personal history was classified at an extremely high level at SHIELD but there were some agents with access to the file. Only Fury, Hill, Natasha, Coulson and Colby (his SHIELD psychotherapist) knew the contents of the dossier and none of them are psychic. In actual fact, the only person who would be able to link him to the image of his shields would be Loki. Thankfully, the God was most unlikely to divulge anything since (according to Thor) he was still locked up in Asgard.

After many gruelling hours, Flint had painstakingly recreated the old tent from the Carson Carnival of Traveling Wonders. He had many good and bad memories there before things went completely to shit. It was just as he remembered it. The ghostly purple tent was quite magnificent and he decided to use diversionary tactics to help disguise his mind/globe. With the spectacle of the arena and the almost ceaseless movement from acts he remembered from so long ago, it was hard not to get sucked into the show. Just like at the real one. He tried to change the colour of the massive tent but couldn't. Xavier explained that the colour was ingrained into his personal psyche and not changeable without psychic powers. Apparently he would always identify with the colour purple no matter who he pretended to be.

Flint was too busy concentrating on adding random balloons, boxes of popcorn and soda cups throughout the audience he'd been painstakingly creating to notice that Xavier had popped out of existence. He was tying a balloon to a small girl's wrist when he was startled by a feminine voice from behind.

"Hi Clint! Oh God, I mean Flint. I, er..." stuttered Jean embarrassedly. If she weren't a vibrant pink astral entity, Flint was certain she'd be blushing a bright red.

"Hey Jean. Don't worry about it," said the archer soothingly. "No one's here except you, me and Ch..." he petered off as he looked around before adding a puzzled, "Where did Charlie go?"

Jean laughed at his confusion. "He disappeared to send me an invitation to your show." The telepath took a moment to scrutinise the scene around her. "I'm impressed. I haven't seen such a high level of detail before from anyone as inexperienced as you with working on the Astral Plane."

This time Flint knew he'd be the one blushing if they were meeting in person. "Thanks Jean. I suppose it's probably because my eyesight is a little better than most others, that's all."

Jean rolled her eyes. "Most others?" she said with a small huff. "More like nearly everyone."

"There's no need to be jealous of my gifts, Miss Grey," smirked the ex-Avenger.

"Whatever," shrugged the woman before she let loose a few giggles. "Anyway, I was sent here on a mission. Charles asked me to take a walk around your shields to see if I could add any suggestions. May I?"

Flint gestured to the room at large in response. The woman strolled around the tent and made a few small recommendations but decided they were sound.

"Of course, if we really want to see how strong they are, I can attack them," Jean suggested cautiously.

Taking the time to mull over her suggestion, Flint eventually agreed with the idea. As much as he didn't want someone to be poking at his head, he'd much rather it be someone he believes to have his best interests at heart rather than a murdering psychopathic God. If she could help protect his mind from the likes of Loki, he'd be more than willing to take a chance on her.

"Now before I start, I want you to look around the tent once more. I know you've been working hard on it for the last few hours but it's easy for someone new to this to forget what they've managed to achieve as a whole. The last thing you want if you truly wish to master these techniques is to spend another half a day recreating what you've already done," lectured the telepath seriously.

"Why?" asked Flint in confusion.

"Think back, Cl, urrrgh! FLINT. I swear I'm going to get a handle on that if it kills me. Anyway, think back to when you were having a look at Scott, Jubilee, Hank and everyone else's shields yesterday. Did they take an hour to make their shields visible?"

"Oh. No. I hadn't really thought about it like that," mused Flint to himself. He took a moment to let his eyes scan the expansive tent. It really was some exceptional work to bring such a distant memory to the forefront of his mind.

"Don't look so worried," consoled Jean with a pat on his shoulder, dragging his attention back to the present. "All it takes is practice. How about we make a deal?" she said as she flicked her wrist and a small pink blade appeared with the tip clenched firmly in her grasp. "I'll throw five daggers at the places I would attack first instead of a full on assault. That way you'll have less to repair and you'll get a feel for what a minor attack on your mind can feel like."

Eager to spare his first attempt at shielding from being utterly decimated so early in its life, the archer agreed with the telepath's idea. "Sure."

The thin redhead smirked at him before critically examining the surroundings. "One, the popcorn machine," she said before accurately throwing her dagger into the machine that was sitting off to the side of the arena. It exploded and Flint felt a sharp poke in his head, as if someone had shoved a toothpick into his brain. When he got over his surprise at the flash of pain, he noticed (much to his displeasure) that all the popcorn buckets in the audience had also dematerialised. "Hmmm," hummed Jean, "You'll have to disassociate the popcorn in the buckets from the machine next time."

Flint rolled his eyes with a pout. "Obviously," he noted with venomous sarcasm mixed with disappointment, which the woman ignored.

"Well, if that happened to the popcorn, the same will probably happen with the balloons too," she said before popping one with her second dagger. She was right. All the balloons exploded around the room. What the woman hadn't counted on was the muttering that started around the crowd and several kids started crying, making a loud, uncomfortable din.

The redhead nodded with respect at the ploy and gave Flint a winning smile. "Oh, you're good. If I weren't used to blocking out the unfriendly thoughts of my students, this would really get on my nerves."

"I aim to please," smirked Flint.

Jean's third dagger was hurled at the ringmaster's stand. Unfortunately for Flint, when it exploded, it took the ringmaster with it. After the ringmaster disappeared, the performers and animals began to flicker out of existence in quick succession until they were all gone, leaving the centre of the arena very bare.

"Fuck," murmured Flint under his breath. Hours of work, gone. Just like that.

"Hey," admonished Jean, "don't be too hard on yourself. The first time I took a stab at Bobby's snow globe (pun intended) the whole thing shattered completely. Look," she added as she threw her arms up, "the tent is still standing. I honestly didn't expect it to so don't get too despondent yet."

Now that the arena was much emptier than before, Jean was able to scrutinise the area more thoroughly. It was then that she noticed the well-hidden trapdoor in the centre of the floor which was used in the clown routine to dispense cream pies. The fourth dagger found its mark and the pain in Flint's head flared much more agonizingly than it had previously. Springing open, his mind/globe was launched into the air and the archer flinched as it began to plummet back down to the ground. In the corner of his eye, he saw a flicker of movement from Jean and was most relieved when he realised she hadn't thrown her last dagger but instead floated a florescent pink baseball glove underneath it to catch the fragile-looking sphere.

Flint let out a huge sigh of relief as she gently lowered the ball back into the trapdoor before closing the hatch.

"That was some great work for a mind shield virgin," noted Jean with amusement as she turned to face the ex-Avenger.

"Thanks Jean," he said somewhat shyly. Even after all this time, he was still sometimes surprised and a little uncomfortable when receiving praise from others.

After looking once again around the tent, Jean nodded her head decisively. "Very good indeed. Anyway, you've been in the Astral Plane for almost five hours now. I suggest you take some time to rest. If you like, we can work on disassociating like objects tomorrow after our session."

"Session?" Flint warily echoed. The first thing that came to mind was the many sessions he spent with Agent Colby Cardwell, his excitable SHIELD shrink. She was a brunette woman with light grey eyes in her mid to late thirties. The only real point in her favour was that it was easy to side-track her with mission details. She'd hang on his every word, forgetting that she was supposed to be assessing his mental state.

"Oh, I thought he would have told you," said Jean with a roll of her eyes. "Xavier's scheduled us in for a Danger Room session tomorrow afternoon at sixteen hundred hours. I don't know how you managed it but Hank will be here for it." A wide smile spread out over her face as her eyes unfocussed. "It's been way too long since we've been in that room together. Not since the days of circular saws and trapdoors before Forge upgraded it with holographic technology."

"You've been here that long?" asked the archer with unconcealed surprise.

Jean's eyes flicked to Flint's and the Astral Plane shimmered. His circus tent had been replaced with a dark blue room with various hoops, saws and flamethrowers. The colours of the scene were vibrant in comparison to his own meagre showing, reminding him that she was a psychic specialist after all.

Storm was gracefully swooping through the hoops that were moving quickly around the ceiling. She neared what was clearly a much younger Hank who was hanging from one of them by a single foot. They linked hands and the blue mutant hurled the slighter woman directly at a girl who looked to be about sixteen, Jean Grey. She held up her hands and halted the chocolate coloured woman mere inches from collision. "Sorry, not this time Storm," she said with a wink as the other desperately tried to snatch the crown on her head.

There was a flash of red light and the item in question had been expertly blasted from her head. Summers dived for the gold crown but grasped empty air as a multitude of colours blinded all those in the room. When their eyes had readjusted, the gold crown sat regally on a blonde woman's head who Flint found vaguely familiar.

Flint jumped as Charles' voice came from right behind him. "It looks like Dazzler is the new carryover champion for today. Well done."

The scene fizzled out of existence. "Wait a minute," said Flint with wide eyes. "Was that THE Dazzler? The famous singer? She's a mutant?"

Jean smacked herself in the head. "Yes. Charles helped her refine her powers and Forge played a large part in the designing of her suit which helps to store her sonic energy. Of course, no one can know about this, Flint. If anyone even suspected her lighting effects were the product of mutation instead of technology, well I'm sure you could imagine the repercussions."

"Don't worry," shrugged Flint. "My lips are sealed. I'm just glad that the Danger Room is now holographic. I wouldn't like being cleaved in two with one of those circular blades."

Letting loose a loud, somewhat sinister laugh, Jean eventually said, "Just because it's holographic, doesn't mean it can't hurt like hell."

Flint frowned. "Shit. I hadn't thought of that. I'm used to holograms being intangible."

"Well then," said the redhead with a smirk. "Congratulations on graduating to the big kid's league, Flint. I hope you survive the experience."

The archer's frown deepened. "I wish you guys would stop saying that," he muttered to himself before returning to his body in Xavier's office.


End file.
